


Hyderabadi Pearl

by LakeWitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Harry Potter, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Bottom Harry Potter, Confessions, Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Harry Potter, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, First Dates, Gay Harry Potter, Hogwarts Professors, Hospitals, Humour, Italy, Language Kink, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Pregnant Hermione Granger, Professor Draco Malfoy, Quidditch, Sleeping Together, Spain, Top Draco Malfoy, denying feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23436004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LakeWitch/pseuds/LakeWitch
Summary: It starts with Draco Malfoy burning his own mail, and is made worse with Septima Vector’s suspicions and accusations.Harry Potter is sent through an emotional whirlwind of a forced confession one day, an assurance of loathing another, and finally a begrudged agreement to go on one date, and only one date, with the purpose of proving—once and for all—that any relationship between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy just would never work.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 113
Kudos: 614





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for:  
> -swearing  
> -sex  
> -alcohol drinking (two people sharing a bottle of wine)  
> -hints of anxiety

“Will you help me?” she asked. 

Harry regarded Professor Vector for a long moment as he fiddled idly with a letter opener, turning it around in his fingers. It was shaped as a sword. Brass. 

She frowned back at him from the other side of Harry’s DADA office desk, clicking her red, glossy fingernails against the desktop as she awaited response. Her black eyes bore into him, revealing nothing of her true motives. He’d always been a bit wary of her—she was always so intense. Needlessly intense. It was unnerving. 

Harry pushed off from his chair, making to stand. “No, I won’t help you investigate Professor Malfoy.” 

Vector rose to her feet, wearing a full-scowl on her pale face now. “You cannot mean to think he isn’t up to something.” 

Harry shrugged, and set off across the red carpet toward the door. He was going to open it for her—a not-so-subtle hint. “So he burns his mail,” he said without looking at her. “So what?” 

“ _So_ ,” she answered, through clenched teeth, “Why would he burn letters, hmm? If not to conceal Death Eater correspondence? There may be plans afoot, _terrible_ plans. He may be looking to bring Death Eaters into the school again.” 

Harry had to suppress a groan—since he suspected it wouldn’t go over well. “I seriously doubt it, Septima.” She hated when he used her given name, even though Harry wasn’t a child anymore and they were both professors now, and proper _colleagues_. He didn’t really like using it either, truth be told. They weren’t exactly friendly. Harry only used it when the situation merited (i.e. when she deserved to be a bit annoyed). “Why would he do that, when Voldemort is dead?” He touched the door handle and glanced back at her. She hadn’t moved an inch. 

“They may have a new leader.” She looked at him as if he were stupid, and that his stupidity pissed her off. “ _He_ may be their new leader.” 

Oh Merlin. Draco Malfoy as the leader of some Neo Death Eaters? He could laugh. 

These days, Draco Malfoy was the quietest, most unassuming professor of the lot of them. He kept to himself, often had his nose in a potions book or academic article of some sort, penning tidy notes in Muggle lined-notebooks. He even _wrote_ academic articles. He was published in all the top potions periodicals. He was a bit of a nerd, really. 

Harry had had enough. He opened his office door as wide as it went, silently beckoning her to leave. “While I seriously doubt that, I’m sure it’s all a matter for the Aurors, isn’t it? Besides, Malfoy is a professor here, and has done nothing to indicate—” 

“The _letters_ ,” she interrupted. 

“I’m sure it’s nothing. Maybe they’re from an ex-lover or something.” God, that felt odd to say. Draco Malfoy with a lover … how very weird. Harry gave a quick shake to his head to clear it. 

Professor Vector looked as if she’d tasted something sour. 

He straightened his posture. “Now if that’s all,” Harry said, gritting his teeth. _Please please please leave—_

“Fine,” she said. And stormed out. 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief while closing the door after her with a soft click. He walked back over to his office desk, and sank down into his chair again with a heavy exhale. He had papers to mark, and couldn’t be bothered with that woman’s made-up drama.

~~

The owls came in at breakfast, bringing with them the morning post. It was a flurry of activity—beating wings, heavy packages dropping to tables with loud thumps, cutlery tossed about, and the excitable chatter of children.

Professor Vector caught Harry's eye, as she leaned forward in her seat at the Professor’s table, staring right at him, trying to communicate something with her face. She kept side-eyeing towards Malfoy who was sitting to Harry’s right, eating quietly. Doing absolutely nothing wrong or out of the ordinary. 

Harry let out a quick exhale, and shot the woman a forced, polite smile. He glanced at Malfoy—reluctantly. 

He didn’t know why Malfoy always sat beside him at meals. They never talked. In fact, Malfoy never talked to anyone at the table. He was so bloody subdued—worlds different from the boy he’d been before the war. He rarely ever spoke to Harry at all, except to make occasional passive-aggressive remarks about his trainers, or to comment negatively on his hair. So … not _so_ different, then. But, still noticeably subdued. Quiet. 

Luckily Harry always had Neville to his left, so he was never bored or lonely or anything. Neville was off sick that week, however. So, unfortunately Harry’s attention had been easy enough for Professor Vector to catch. 

A pack of letters dropped in front of Malfoy, which he promptly scooped up and tucked into the inner pocket of slate-grey robes. Then the man resumed eating—just small forkfuls of cheese and spinach quiche, like he couldn’t be bothered to check who’d written him. 

Harry turned back to his own plate, picking up his fork to shovel eggs and mash into his mouth. He was starving, and didn’t feel much like spying on Draco Malfoy—who was definitely _not_ up to something. 

With the gentle drop of a fork onto a plate, and the sound of chair dragging softly on the floor, Malfoy was getting up, and making to walk out the Great Hall. 

“Psst, psst.” 

Harry suppressed an eyeroll. 

“Psst.” 

He reluctantly looked over, to see Professor Vector wordlessly indicating that he should follow Malfoy out with a jerk of her head. 

This was so, so stupid. 

Maybe he should bring the matter to Minerva to handle. 

“Psst.” 

Jesus. He looked up and caught a few students eyeing the Professor’s table curiously. 

Fine. Just to make her shut up. And to possibly prove her wrong. 

He rose to his feet, and grabbed a croissant to go from the basket of baked goods, because he hadn’t quite finished eating and he shouldn’t have to go hungry all morning because of this. Then, Harry followed Malfoy out. It was easy enough, because Malfoy wasn’t rushing. 

Harry trailed after Malfoy, taking bites of his croissant as he went along. Malfoy pushed open the castle’s front doors, and walked out into the cool autumn sunshine. When Harry pushed the door—a few seconds after him—Malfoy whirled to face him immediately. Malfoy seemed tense—his posture all rigid, his expression carefully masked. _Defensive_. 

“What do you want, Potter?” 

Malfoy still said Harry’s surname like it was an insult. Some things never change. 

Harry shrugged, then took a bite of croissant. “Getting some fresh air,” he said as he chewed the flaky, buttery pastry. 

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, looking faintly disgusted. Harry couldn’t help it—it just made him grin. It was fun to rile Malfoy up. And, it was easy. Nostalgic, really. 

“Well, kindly get on with it. Someplace else,” Malfoy said, waving his hand roughly in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. 

Harry shrugged again, sauntering over closer. Malfoy just eyed him warily. 

“What are you doing, then?” Harry asked. 

“That is none of your business or concern.” 

Harry nodded, squinting out at the grounds. The grass sparkled with dew underneath blue skies, with only a couple fluffy white clouds in the distance. And Harry was quite aware he was being irritating, but it was a fun change of pace. 

Maybe he was bored without Neville around. That was probably it. 

“Anything to do with the letters in your pocket?” 

Malfoy stiffened further—Harry wouldn’t have thought it possible. “Potter. _Fuck. Off_.” 

His eyebrows raised. “That’s not a very professional way to speak to a colleague, is it?” 

“Going to report me?” 

“No.” 

Malfoy glared. “Fuck off, then.” 

“What are they? Who are they from?” He was genuinely just curious now. “And why do you burn them?” 

A muscle in Malfoy’s jaw twitched. 

They stared at each other. 

“None of your fucking business!” Malfoy said suddenly, sounding manic, with wide, wild eyes. He turned with a flourish, making his robes billow dramatically. And then Malfoy rushed off, in the direction of the Owlery, with white-blond hair and grey robes fluttering in the slight breeze. 

Well. That hadn’t gone well. Not at all. 

Malfoy was rather sensitive about those letters. Harry couldn’t imagine why. 

It was curious, though.

~~

“What did you discover?” Vector asked with a smug smile—as if already sure she’d been right about Malfoy, and that Harry was about to grovel at her feet, saying he should’ve listened to her sooner or some bollocks.

“Nothing,” Harry answered dryly, from behind his desk. He should really start thinking of better excuses to get her from barging into his office. Saying he had papers to mark didn’t seem to work. 

In a blink, her smile fell, twisting into a scowl. “You’re not taking this seriously,” she accused. 

And she was right. He wasn’t. Yes, it was unusual to burn one’s own letters. But it wasn’t illegal. 

Harry shrugged. “I really don’t think there’s any cause for concern.” 

Sure, Malfoy had been annoyed and tight-lipped with him. But that was just normal for them, wasn’t it? 

Professor Vector stood suddenly, seething. “Let’s hope you don’t live to regret those words.” 

Merlin. Dramatic, much? 

She swirled in her blood-red robes, and marched out of his office, slamming the door behind herself. 

The slam made his heartrate pick up. But it was nothing—just from the loud noise, likely. The room felt off and a bit too quiet after her leaving. 

Harry sighed heavily, and then resumed his marking. He had better things to think about than one professor’s conspiracy theories. And better things to think about than what Draco Malfoy chooses to do with his own property. 

It was over now. Done. He’d washed his hands of it, so to speak. 

He cleared his throat, and scribbled a red ‘x’ on the paper in front of him. No, the Curse of the Bogies was not an Auror-grade defensive spell.

~~

The next day, a yellow paper airplane interrupted Harry’s last class of the day. It flew in through the window, landing on his desk.

“Hold on a second,” he said to his Seventh Year class. They all lowered their wands, talking amongst themselves in hushed voices, casting curious looks at Harry. 

He unfolded the paper to reveal a note from Minerva, telling him to come to her office immediately after his class finished. That was odd. Whatever it was couldn’t wait until after dinner? 

The rest of the class went on without incident; he was attempting to teach them all Expecto Patronum. Three of them had already mastered it (a frog, a goose, and a panther raced one another around the ceiling), and about ten were getting wisps—which was better than nothing, really. They’d all get it, soon enough. 

When he arrived to the Headmistress’s office, he saw two stiff backs facing him. The backs belonged to Professors Vector and Malfoy, and they were sat across from a rather cross-looking Minerva. 

She pinched her mouth when she saw Harry step inside, and beckoned wordlessly for him to sit. The only empty seat was beside Malfoy. Harry approached slowly, and then slunk down into the chair. 

Okay. This was a tense room. 

He chanced a glance at Malfoy and Vector. Malfoy seemed high strung, like he’d gotten wound up and it was all he could do to keep himself from unravelling. He was also avoiding Harry’s eye, staring straight across the room. Professor Vector, on the other hand, scowled openly at Harry. 

Minerva cleared her throat, and then she eyed Harry sternly. “Draco has brought it to my attention, that the two of you are stalking and harassing him.” 

“ _Harassing_?” Harry repeated incredulously. His eyes darted to Malfoy again, who was gripping the arms of his chair tightly, tight enough to show the white of his knuckles, and still decidedly not looking at him. 

This was ridiculous. 

“I am _not_ stalking and harassing Malfoy,” Harry continued. 

Minerva frowned. “You followed him yesterday, did you not?” 

He could groan, but he didn’t. “ _Yes_ , but—” 

“And you pestered him about his personal letters, even after he asked you not to?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well, _yes_ , but—” 

“He’s burning them,” Professor Vector interrupted. “It’s highly suspicious. And considering his _past_ , it’s no wonder that Harry and I suspect him of criminal activity.” 

“ _Criminal_ —” Malfoy repeated, his voice breaking. He rose to his feet in an instant. 

Vector stood as well. “ _Yes_ , don’t think we haven’t forgotten what you are,” she hissed in Malfoy’s face. 

Oh God. He didn’t want to be involved in this ‘we’. 

Malfoy’s chest was rising and falling now. “What I am?” he repeated. 

Harry rose to his feet too, without knowing what to say. Just knowing that this was so off the rails and uncalled for— 

Malfoy turned to Harry, jabbing a finger towards him. That wild look in his bright grey eyes was back, the same from the morning before. “You,” he accused. “You never—” His voice broke again. He whirled to face Minerva, breathing in pants. “I don’t need to take this.” 

“Draco,” Minerva said calmly, the only one of them still seated. 

But Malfoy was already on the way out, robes billowing behind him. 

Well. That’d been another disaster. 

Harry realised his mouth was open—and promptly closed it. He was staring at the space Malfoy’s back disappeared from. His heart was racing. 

Minerva sighed, and she eyed Professor Vector, with her mouth a straight line. “Septima. Leave us.” 

Reluctantly, Vector nodded, with a thinly-veiled scowl. She spun around and stalked out. 

Minerva sighed again. “Alright, Harry. Tell me what’s going on.” 

So, rather bewilderedly, Harry sank back down into the chair, and he did—he told her. He explained Vector’s paranoia, and his unwillingness to go along with all of it. How it’d so quickly gone off the rails—and he hadn’t expected to Malfoy to react like that. 

With one more sigh, Minerva pushed her tin of biscuits towards him. 

Harry grabbed a ginger snap, and took a bite. Minerva took one herself. 

They chewed in silence for a moment. They were lovely snaps. He should get the recipe for Ron to make … 

“Well,” Minerva said, after she’d swallowed her last piece. “I’m going to have a talk with Septima, and you are going to have a talk with Draco.” 

“But—” 

She quirked an eyebrow. 

“We don’t exactly—” 

The eyebrow climbed on her forehead. 

“Get along,” he finished with a sigh. “Alright. Fine. I’ll try to explain, but I’m not sure he’ll listen.” 

“I don’t want Hogwarts’ best-ever Potions professor quitting over this.” 

Harry had to smile at that. Hogwarts’ best, huh? Better than Snape, better than Slughorn? Well ... he could actually believe it, couldn’t he? 

He nodded. “I’ll talk to him.” 

“ _Now_.” 

He winced. “Yes, now.” No time to prepare, then.

~~

Harry knocked on Malfoy’s office door. Nothing. He pressed his ear up to the wood, and couldn’t hear anything.

So, he tried Malfoy’s quarters. 

Muffled, through the door, he heard, “Fuck off.” 

“Malfoy!” he said. “I need to talk to you!” 

“I said ‘fuck off’!” 

Harry sighed, with his palm on the door. “I can explain!” 

“I don’t want to hear it.” 

“I didn’t—” he started to say, too quiet to reach Malfoy’s ears through the door, probably. He sighed again. What was he supposed to do, shout that Professor Vector was a paranoid arsehole through the door? Shout that Harry didn’t think Malfoy was a criminal through the door? It was ridiculous. All of this was. And he had a lesson plan to write, and twenty papers to mark. 

But he didn’t want Malfoy to quit, either. Or, feel sad or hurt or anything. 

Swiping a hand over his face, Harry said loudly, “You’re not going to quit, are you?” 

There was a long silence. Harry winced. That probably hadn’t come out right. 

“Malfoy?” he asked. 

Closer to the door, Malfoy’s voice came out clearer. “No, _Potter_. Believe it or not, some of us actually need our jobs.” 

Okay, then. 

So Malfoy wasn’t going to quit at least. 

“Well ... that’s good,” he said lamely. Hopefully it’d been too quiet for Malfoy to hear. 

Harry, considering his job done (as well as he could do anyway), marched over to his office to get a bit of work done before dinner. 

And later that evening, Malfoy didn’t show up to the Great Hall. Still cross, probably.

~~

He did, however, show up to breakfast. Looking a bit less composed than his usual immaculately-dressed self. There was a wrinkle on his sky-blue robes, right near the shoulder. And his eyes looked tired.

Harry sank into the seat beside him, and mentally prepared to say something. 

Should he apologise? Would ‘I’m sorry’ cut it? 

Just then, Neville took his seat on Harry’s other side, while clapping him on the back. “Hey Harry, what’d I miss? Merlin, I hate being bloody sick. Why hasn’t someone cured the common cold yet? I couldn’t breathe out my nose all week.” 

Harry managed a smile. “Didn’t miss much, mate. Glad to have you back.” 

The morning post arrived. Bringing with it the normal sounds of beating wings and packages thumping onto tables. 

“Draco Malfoy,” Professor Vector said, her clear voice cutting through the background noise. 

Harry looked up in time, in front of the Professor’s table, to see the flash of a pink sphere fly through the air, from Vector’s gloved hand. And Malfoy, with his Seeker’s reflexes, who caught the object in his bare hand. 

“Harry Potter.” 

The sound had come from the sphere. And it’d been in Malfoy’s own voice. But it was softer—it didn’t sound like an insult. 

It sounded … like the exact opposite of an insult. 

Malfoy dropped the sphere like it’d burned him, and it rolled down the table, past Harry. It was a pearly-pink and much larger than any pearl he’d ever seen, Harry noted, wide-eyed as it rolled past. 

Neville picked it up. 

“Nev—” Harry tried to warn. 

“Children,” the sphere said. Fondly. In Neville’s own voice. 

A chair was hurriedly pushed back. And flash of movement caught Harry’s eye. It was Malfoy, rushing off around the table and bounding towards the doors. 

The professors were on their feet in an instant. 

Neville turned the sphere in his hand, eyeing it from all angles. “Fascinating,” he said. “’Children,’ it’d said?” 

Minerva rushed over with a cloth napkin. 

“What is it?” Harry asked her. 

Minerva pinched her mouth closed, as her nostrils flared. “I don’t know Harry, but I would certainly like Septima to tell us.” 

Harry turned, in time, to see Professor Vector grabbing for a pile of letters left at Malfoy’s plate. Now, Harry had Seeker reflexes too, so he snatched the letters up, a split second before she could. 

Vector glared at him. “Give those to me.” 

“No,” he said. “They aren’t yours.” 

“Give them to me!” She lunged at him, with fingers spread like claws. 

“Petrificus Totalus,” Minerva cast, and immediately sighed. “I _do_ hate to curse staff.” 

Vector’s frozen, menacing form clattered to the floor. 

Neville frowned down at her, still clutching the object in his hand. “I think I did miss something.”

~~

The Aurors were called in, and Harry wasn’t allowed into the Headmistress’s office with them. He had to wait outside with Neville in the hallway.

So, Harry filled Neville in on all the happenings he’d missed. 

“Well. She’s a bit mad, isn’t she?” Neville asked. 

Harry shrugged. “Reckon she’ll be arrested?” 

“Not sure,” Neville said, rubbing his chin. “Maybe fired at the least.” 

Harry hummed his acknowledgement, leaning his back against the cool stone wall. He stared off down the corridor, unseeing. He couldn’t get the sound of his name, softly spoken in Malfoy’s voice, out of his mind. 

Neville asked, “What do you think of that funny ball, though? It’d said ‘children’ in my own voice.” 

Harry shrugged. “No idea.” 

“The thing is … I do want to have kids, more than anything. But I haven’t brought it up with Hannah yet.” 

Harry looked at his friend curiously. “Yeah? How come you haven’t talked about it?” 

Neville slumped against the wall, across from Harry, sinking to the floor. “What if she doesn’t? Then what? We have to break up?” 

Harry sank to the floor, mirroring Neville from the opposite side of the hall. He didn’t know much about these matters ... he hadn’t been in a real relationship with anybody since Ginny. But, he’d always thought communication was most important in the end. The truth comes out eventually, whether you want it to or not, didn’t it? “You’ve got to talk about it though, right? At least, sometime. Eventually.” 

Neville sighed. “Yeah. I’m just … putting it off for a bit.” He shot Harry a smile, a not-to-worry smile. “Do you think that sphere knew what I’ve been worrying about?” 

Harry licked at his bottom lip, furrowing his brow. “Maybe.” 

He doubted the sphere said his name because Malfoy worried about him though. 

The door opened, and the crowd of Aurors came out, along with Professor Vector, noisily moving down the hallway. 

Vector was loudly protesting all the while. “This is an outrage! You’ll be sorry! You’ll _all_ be sorry!” 

Minerva appeared in the doorway with a pinched mouth, beckoning them both inside. 

The three of them climbed her office steps in a charged silence. 

Harry wondered if they’d figured out that the pearl did. 

Did he even want to know? 

“Professor Vector will no longer be teaching at Hogwarts,” Minerva said, as they settled in chairs around her desk. “Dismissed on grounds of harassing a fellow professor with a magical object, and attempting to physically assault a second professor.” 

Neville and Harry shared a look. 

“The sphere you touched—Neville—you will be happy to know is _not_ physically dangerous." Minerva cleared her throat. "But I would advise against picking up any mysterious items, without first knowing what they may do, in the future.” She looked at him pointedly, and interlaced her fingers on the desk. “It is a rare magical pearl from Hyderabad,” she added, frowning down at the sphere wrapped in cloth sat on her desk. “A city in South India.” 

“Ah,” said Harry, eyeing it as well. 

“We believe Septima meant it to force Draco's secrets out of him.” She inhaled sharply. “Because, in similar vein to the Mirror of Erised, this artefact reveals only the secret desires of your heart.” 

Minerva and Neville kept speaking, but Harry did not hear them. 

Because ... when Malfoy had touched the sphere, it’d said _his name_. 

Implying … implying … 

He couldn’t even put it into words. 

It didn’t make sense. 

Could it be that Malfoy dropped it too soon? That it was going to say something more believable like, “Harry Potter’s demise”? 

That would make much more sense. 

He needed to know. He came back into himself, finding Minerva and Neville staring at him. “Er, sorry, what was that?” 

Neville smiled; his expression compassionate. “Are you alright, Harry?” 

He nodded. “Yeah. Fine.” Then he turned to Minerva. “If you drop it quickly, does it stop revealing your, er, secret?” 

She frowned slightly. “Afraid not, Harry. One of the Aurors touched it by accident for only a moment, and there was a very lengthy rendition of something I would rather not repeat.” 

“Ah,” said Harry, leaning back in the chair. Great. 

Brilliant. 

Neville cleared his throat. “Well. If that’s all …" 

“Yeah,” Harry said, as if he were far away. 

He didn’t realise he’d walked back to his quarters until he heard a knock on his door. 

“Harry! It’s lunchtime!” 

Neville. 

He sat up fast in his bed. If it was lunch, that meant … wasn’t it Wednesday? Had he missed a morning of classes? 

He rushed to the door, to reveal a smiling Neville on the other side. “Hey Harry.” 

“I forgot about my classes.” 

Neville chuckled. “Guess you missed that part of the conversation this morning. With all the hub-bub, Minerva cancelled all classes for the day.” 

“Oh.” Oh. Okay. Harry blinked rapidly, letting that all sink in. 

“So … lunch?” 

“Right. Yeah. Let’s go.” 

Malfoy didn’t go to lunch. Or to dinner later either.

~~

Draco Malfoy’s secret desire was, simply, Harry Potter.

Harry could actually think the words that day, could put them into a complete sentence. 

It was still very hard to wrap his head around. 

Especially on account of having believed that said-person had hated him ever since he’d met him. 

And the secret desire hadn’t been something smaller, a piece of something more tangible like: “to go on a date with Harry Potter” or “Harry Potter’s body”. 

The secret desire was him, just him. 

And what did that even mean? All of him? Did Draco Malfoy want all of him? Desire all of him? 

Jesus. He couldn’t even begin to process it. It wouldn’t absorb. 

As Harry walked through the Great Hall doors, the first thing he noticed was that Malfoy had shown up to breakfast. Harry’s heartrate sped up. Malfoy looked even more dishevelled than the day before. He had dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept a wink. 

Malfoy’s postured stiffened as Harry sat down beside him. Harry peered at him out of the corner of his eye. Malfoy was gripping his fork quite tightly. 

Harry, on the other hand, was fiddling with his hands in his lap and not knowing what to do with himself. 

This was weird. This was all weird and made no sense. 

“Can I talk to you?” he blurted out. 

A muscle twitched in Malfoy’s jaw, and he shook his head curtly. 

Harry exhaled. Fine. 

The plan was to ignore it all, then? Fine. 

Fine. 

Wonderful. 

So, he ate. 

And tasted nothing. 

Which was a shame, because it was waffle day and Harry usually loved waffle day.

~~

Harry’s heartrate sped up.

He was just walking toward his classroom, and Malfoy had appeared from the other end of the hallway. 

Why was his heart reacting this way? 

Was he nervous? Was he nervous of Malfoy for some reason? 

“Malfoy,” Harry said in greeting as they got a little closer. He was polite. He was casual. 

They were only walking in opposite directions down the hall. It was perfectly normal for a professor to acknowledge another professor when they ran into each other. 

After all, the two of them had done it before. 

And … usually Malfoy would at least _nod_. Would _at least_ look at him. 

But Malfoy’s shoulders were tense, his face set straight forward, his eyes un-blinking. 

And … nothing. No response. 

They passed each other, and Harry found that he’d stopped moving. His body twisted around, to watch the stiffly-retreating man, as he walked further away, and disappeared around a corner. 

And so it went. Malfoy ignored him. Avoided him. Refused to speak to or acknowledge him in any capacity. It was like Harry was invisible. 

And it was driving him a bit mad. He did not like it at all. 

And he still had Malfoy’s letters. Surely Malfoy needed them, right? Whether to read them or burn them or what-have-you. 

So Harry decided to get creative. And he enlisted one Felicity Adams, Second Year Hufflepuff, to help him out. 

She knocked on Malfoy’s office door after last period. 

“Who is it?” came the muffled voice within. 

Leaning his back against the wall beside the door, Harry waited with baited breath. 

“It’s Felicity, sir. I’ve got a question about the assignment—” 

Malfoy magicked the door to open, and Harry—after giving an appreciative smile to Felicity—slipped inside, closing the door behind himself. 

Merlin. Malfoy’s office was barren. Not that Harry’s was anything special—but at least he had knick-knacks and photographs and an area rug. Malfoy had hardly anything. A desk. A chair. A bookshelf. 

Malfoy rose to his feet, with fingertips on his desk and expression shuttered. He looked a bit like a spooked cat in posture—if the man’d had fur it’d be standing on end. 

Harry held out his hands, as a sign of peace. “I’ve got your letters, from the other day,” he said, before Malfoy could hex him, or run, or both. Harry took the letters out from the inner pocket of his robes, and held them out to show he wasn’t lying. 

Malfoy glared at them in Harry’s hand, as a muscle twitched in his jaw. “Did you open them?” His voice was flatter than his facial expression. 

“No,” Harry rushed to say, stepping closer to lay them on Malfoy’s desk. Now that his hands were free, he didn’t know what to do with them. So he stuffed them into his pockets. “They’re none of my business.” 

Malfoy slowly sank back down into his desk chair again, bringing the letters closer to himself, staring down at them. “If that’s all—” he began. 

“It’s not,” Harry interrupted. 

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Malfoy said, simply. 

“So don’t,” Harry said in a breath. “Just … can you let me talk for a minute? You don’t have to say anything.” 

Malfoy didn’t respond, instead he untied the twine around his letters with those nimble, pale fingers. 

Harry watched the movement, and took it as a sign that he could talk. “I’m sorry,” he said. “About everything—” 

“Everything?” Malfoy asked, lifting an eyebrow without looking at Harry—just staring down at his letters, carefully arranging them side-by-side on his desk. 

“Everything with Vector,” he amended, slipping into the chair across from Malfoy so that they’d be on the same level. “She came to me, bothering me, trying to get me to believe her about you. But I didn’t. Believe her, that is.” He sighed, wringing his hands, not knowing if he was doing a good job of this. Malfoy had no reason to believe what he was saying, really. But … he hoped he would. “Maybe I should’ve brought it to Minerva, the second Vector had come to me. It was so stupid. And I didn’t think it would escalate like it did, as quickly as it did. And I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.” 

Malfoy didn’t say anything, he just looked at all the mismatched envelopes arranged in front him. Different colours. Different sizes. 

“I don’t suspect you,” Harry said breathily. “Of anything. I really don’t.” 

Well … was that enough? 

He could ask about the one thing that’d been forefront in his mind ever since it happened … the magic pearl. Harry’s name. And what that all meant. But … _Merlin_ , one thing at a time? 

Malfoy looked wholly unaffected by his words, and gathered up the letters into a pile again. 

Should Harry … keep going? 

“You’re a good teacher. And a good person. I believe that—” 

Malfoy held up his palm to stop Harry from talking, which was probably a good thing because Harry didn’t know what he was going to blurt out next. Then, Malfoy tied up the letters with the twine, and slid them towards Harry. “You can have them,” he said flatly. “You may want to run diagnostic spells before you open them. And if you burn them, I’d advise burning outside.” He nodded towards the edge of his desk—which Harry saw now was rather scorched. “Some of the spells interact with Incendio.” 

Er, what? Diagnostics? 

“You can leave now,” Malfoy said firmly. 

Harry blinked at Malfoy, who was not looking at him. Instead, Malfoy was pulling a stack of student papers out of the top drawer of his desk. 

“Er, alright,” Harry said quietly, taking the letters into his hands and standing. He hesitated, but Malfoy didn’t look up. So, Harry turned and walked off.

~~

Back at Harry’s office, he carefully unwrapped the twine, and arranged the letters on his desk, just as Malfoy had.

He chose one at random, a small purple envelope, without a return address, and ran some diagnostic spells on it. 

He straightened in his seat. The envelope was cursed to explode when opened. He tossed it down, and picked up a big green envelope instead. This one wasn’t cursed, as far his spells could tell (and he was quite good at them). So, Harry swiped at it with his sword-shaped letter opener, and pulled out the parchment to read. 

It was a mess of angry words, scratched harshly into the parchment. Words like: Death Eater, murderer, unfit to teach, monster ... And it contained threats, like: “you’d better watch where you go outside of Hogwarts, or they may need to find a new Potions Professor”. 

He blinked at the page. 

He tried to swallow the lump that’d formed in his throat—but his mouth had gone dry. 

Harry placed the parchment down. 

So they were all threatening letters, then. Curses. Hate mail. 

He rubbed his face. Then, scooped up the letters into a pile, and tucked them into his inner pocket. He went to his quarters to grab his thick tweed cloak—since it was colder out at night lately—and promptly walked out of the castle. 

Once past the wards, Harry apparated away.

~~

Hermione and Ron had a lovely little cottage, tucked away in the country. Neville had helped Ron with the landscaping, and it was perfect. The stepping stone walkway towards the front door was lushly framed by wildflowers, and apple trees dotted the property.

The sun was setting behind Harry’s back as he walked, casting the sky—and everything below it—in burnt orange. 

Harry knocked on their dark red door. It had a little autumn-themed wreath in the centre—all tangled twigs and coloured leaves. 

He hoped they were home. 

The door opened, to reveal a small Rose, dressed in yellow dungarees. 

“Uncle Harry!” She grinned up at him. Her brown hair had been tied up into two pigtail puffs of curls. 

Rose Granger-Weasley was probably Harry’s most favourite person in the world. 

“Darling,” Harry said, scooping her up into his arms. “How are we today?” 

“We are happy today!” 

Harry laughed, hugging her to him, and shut the front door with his foot. “Yes we are.” He toed off his shoes and carried her off into the kitchen, where Ron was, with his back to them, humming to himself with a frilly floral apron and stirring something on the range. 

A very-pregnant Hermione was sat at the kitchen table, surrounded by books and parchments, with reading glasses low on her nose and a quill feather in her mouth. Even though she was off work, and due to give birth within the month, Hermione still worked furiously on her case for Vampire rights. 

“Mum! Dad!” exclaimed Rose, practically buzzing in his arms. “Uncle Harry’s here!” 

Hermione took the quill out of her mouth, and pushed her reading glasses to the top of her head—smiling at them as she rose slowly to her feet, using the table for leverage. “Well, this is a surprise.” She waddled over to Harry and Rose and hugged them into her arms. 

“Oh! Hey mate,” said Ron, flashing him a grin over his shoulder. “I’d hug you but the sauce might bubble over.” 

“Sorry for barging in,” Harry smiled apologetically at his best friends. “I could’ve Floo-called.” 

Hermione waved the air. “You know you’re always welcome. Come, sit down. We’ll have dinner together.” 

Harry set Rose down, and took off his cloak, throwing it over the back of the chair before slipping into it. 

“Uncle Harry! I have something to show you! Mum? Can I?” 

Hermione smiled at her daughter. “Go ahead, honey.” 

Rose grinned and raced out of the room. 

Hermione leaned closer to Harry. “She drew a dragon today.” 

“Ah, lovely,” Harry said, smiling. 

“So,” Hermione said, extending a hand to lay it on his arm. “You don’t usually drop in. Is something the matter?” 

He licked his lips. “Not really, I just had something …" Well, it was easier to just show them. He pulled out the stack of letters from his pocket, and handed the one he’d already opened over to Hermione. 

She took it from him, and lowered her reading glasses to her nose, already furrowing her eyebrows as she read the first line. Her eyes flicked to his. “Draco Malfoy?” 

Harry bit at his bottom lip, and nodded. 

“ _Draco Malfoy_?” Ron asked, spinning around, wide-eyed. 

“Dray-co Mal-foy!” Rose sing-songed as she glided into the room, over emphasizing each syllable. “What’s a Dray-co Mal-foy?” she asked, gripping a parchment in her little hands. 

“That’s a person’s name,” Harry said. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, thrusting the paper into his hand. 

Fondly, Harry looked down at the bright orange dragon with jagged teeth and huge bat-like wings. “This is beautiful, Rose.” 

She beamed up at him. “Thank you!” 

“Come here, sweetheart,” said Hermione, placing Malfoy’s hate mail on the table. “Let’s go wash our hands for dinner.” 

When Hermione and Rose had left for the bathroom, Ron cast Harry a look over his shoulder. “What’s going on?” 

Harry placed Rose’s drawing down and snatched up the hateful letter instead, bringing it over to where Ron was working his kitchen magic. He held it up so that Ron could get the gist of it. “He’s getting all this mail. I think, like, every day. Some of them have dangerous curses in them. I wondered if … if the Aurors could do anything about it?” 

Ron turned off the range, and took the pot of pasta sauce off the element. Then he grabbed the pot of pasta noodles and moved to the sink to drain them. He looked at Harry like he was analysing something, as the water poured out of the pot. 

He sighed. And set the pot of noodles down on a trivet on the countertop. “Yeah, mate. I’ll take them in to work tomorrow.” 

“Thanks—” 

“But why the sudden interest in helping Draco Malfoy?” 

Harry shrugged, defensively. “I’d want to help anyone who’s being threatened.” 

Ron raised an eyebrow, as Rose and Hermione returned from the bathroom. 

“Dray-co Mal-foy!” Rose announced. 

Harry and Hermione locked eyes. She shrugged with a smile. “Likes the name, I guess.” 

They settled around the table, and had a lovely meal of green apple goat cheese ravioli in a pecan, butternut squash sauce together. The subject of Draco Malfoy did not come up again. Instead, they chatted about Ron’s Auror work, Hermione’s case, the latest check-up on the baby, and Harry’s teaching. It felt good to be all together, as it always did. 

Afterwards, Ron, Hermione and Rose saw Harry to the door. 

“Oh! Take some apples back with you, we have too many,” Hermione said, going back to the kitchen to grab a bag. 

“When are you coming back, Uncle Harry?” asked Rose. 

“Soon, I hope,” he said, giving her a soft pat to the head. 

Hermione returned with a cloth bag stuffed with fat apples, and thrust them at him. 

“Ah, thanks.” 

“And I’ll let you know of any updates,” said Ron, still eyeing Harry a bit curiously. 

“Thanks. And, um, he doesn’t know about this.” 

Ron smiled. “Not surprised.” 

Hermione leaned in to kiss his cheek, and then there were hugs all around. 

“Thanks for dinner,” Harry said, looking at them all once more. 

And then he went back to Hogwarts.

~~

Okay.

So now what? Did Harry have to deal with the other matter next? The matter of Draco Malfoy’s secret desire? 

Well he could just leave it. Could choose to pretend like the pearl incident had never happened, which was exactly what Malfoy seemed to be doing, and seemed to _want_ them both to be doing. 

But it was too big a thing to ignore, really. (In his opinion.) 

He sort-of wanted to hear the truth from Malfoy’s own mouth, though. But breaching the topic was bound to be awkward, and not something Malfoy wanted to talk about. 

But they’d have to talk about it sometime, yes? 

And hopefully they were on speaking terms now, now that Harry had apologised, and after they’d practically had a whole civil conversation in Malfoy’s office. 

So, at dinner the next day, over roast beef and Yorkshire puddings, Harry worked up the courage to ask (perfectly normally and casually): “Can I talk to you later?” 

And Malfoy … just shook his head. Not even sparing a word or even a grunt. Not even looking at him. 

Harry bit back a sigh. 

He’d just have to get creative again. 

So Harry enlisted Robert Singh, Third Year Ravenclaw, to knock on Malfoy’s door the next day, during office hours. 

“Who is it?” came the familiar muffled voice. 

“It’s Robert Singh, sir,” Robert leaned in close to the door, looking rather uncertain. “Can I talk to you about—” 

“Nice try, Potter.” 

Shit. 

“I … he’s not—” Robert fumbled. It didn’t sound very convincing. 

Harry sighed, and Robert, all wide-eyed, looked apologetic. 

“Thanks for your help Robert,” Harry said, managing a smile.

~~

So the next day, during Harry’s free period, he slipped quietly into the back of the Potions classroom, and sank into a spare stool against the back wall.

Malfoy was busy at one of the stations, helping a First Year cut up something. His face looked very soft, as he spoke patiently to the student. 

Harry couldn’t help but smile as he watched. 

Malfoy straightened up, and moved on to another station, looking inside the cauldron and smiling encouragingly at the girl sitting there. He tucked a loose strand of white-blond hair behind his ear, before moving to another row. Malfoy licked at his bottom lip, said something quietly to the student there, who hurriedly dropped in a fistful of an ingredient. Malfoy nodded, smiling at the boy. His eyes smiled too. It wasn’t just Malfoy’s mouth. 

Merlin. Malfoy seemed like a really nice teacher. Patient. Encouraging. The sort of teacher Harry needed at age eleven. 

Class ended, and the First Years packed up their things and trickled out of the classroom. The ones that spotted Harry greeted him. 

“Oh, hello Professor Potter!” 

“Hi Bernard.” 

“Hi Professor!” 

“Hi Jun-pyo.” 

Harry looked over their heads, and saw Malfoy watching him—all stiff-backed and frowning. 

After the last student left, Malfoy strode over to the classroom door, and held it open for Harry. 

“You can’t take a hint,” he said flatly. 

Harry licked his bottom lip, and shook his head. He agreed. “I gave your letters to the Aurors.” 

Malfoy sighed. “Of course you did.” 

“Maybe they can help.” 

“I sincerely doubt it,” Malfoy said. “Now if that’s all, the next class will be starting shortly, and I believe you have one to teach yourself.” 

Harry looked at Malfoy for a moment, properly looked. And he seemed tense, but as if he was trying to hide it. “Will you go on a date with me?” 

It’d just sort of … come out. 

Harry’s face suddenly felt a degree or two hotter. 

Shit. 

Malfoy appeared to freeze. Then, his face twisted into a scowl. “No.” 

_No_? That was not the answer Harry expected from the person with the secret desire about him. “Er, why not?” 

“Because I don’t want to.” Malfoy’s expression was dark and an impenetrable wall. 

Harry swallowed, unable to look away from Malfoy’s face. “Why don’t you want to?” 

Malfoy’s eyes were daggers, boring into him. “Because I don’t like you,” he said, heavily enunciating each word. “In fact, I hate you. Now if you’re bothering me because of … that _thing_ , I’ll have you know that I dropped it before it could finish. And what I want, truly want—more than anything—is for you to stop working here, so I never have to see your ugly, annoying face again. Now if you will please ... _Leave. Me. Alone._ ” 

Malfoy hated him? 

Harry knew Malfoy was lying (didn’t he?). But it still … 

Hurt. 

A group of Fourth Years walked in, through the door that Malfoy was still holding open. They tossed Harry and Malfoy curious looks, on their way to their desks. 

More of them kept coming in, and Harry couldn’t push past them to leave. He looked at Malfoy, who was staring back at him, with jaw clenched. 

Okay. 

That was that, then. 

He’d leave Draco Malfoy alone. 

Harry sighed quietly, averting his eyes. 

A break in the inward flow of students came, so Harry slipped out without a word, and stalked off to his classroom to teach a bunch of Fifth Years some Defence.

~~

A knock on Harry’s office door interrupted his test marking. Opening it revealed Ron, dressed in his Auror uniform, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“Hey mate,” Ron said pulling Harry into a hug. 

“Hey,” Harry echoed, squeezing Ron tight. 

Ron pulled back, and gripped Harry’s arms. “All right?” 

Harry nodded, managing a smile. “What brings you here?” 

Ron’s hands dropped. “Ah. We’ve figured out who’s been sending your Malfoy his love letters. I’ve come to see if he wants to press charges.” 

“Oh,” Harry said, scratching at his jaw. He should shave; in another day he’d go from having stubble to a proper beard. “Well that’s good.” 

“Yeah, and I also wanted to see if you would come with me, on account of this investigation being your idea and all.” 

Harry managed another smile. “He’s knows about it now, it won’t be a surprise.” 

“Still, it’d be nice to have a buffer.” 

He shook his head. “He doesn’t want to talk to me. You’re better off going alone.” 

Ron fell silent, eyeing Harry. “Are you sure you’re alright?” 

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

Ron pulled him in for another hug. “Okay. I’ll go and talk to the ferret. Come ‘round the house soon, yeah?” 

“Sure, but I don’t think he likes—” 

Ron laughed, releasing from the hug. “I know. I won’t say it to his face.”

~~

The next morning, at breakfast, the post arrived, and Malfoy didn’t receive any letters.

Harry saw him exhale slow, and his posture relax, out of the corner of his eye. 

Something good had come out everything, at least. 

So Malfoy wanted him— _possibly_ —but also didn’t want him … It was fine. It was like him and Ginny, probably. He’d wanted Ginny, because he liked the idea of them together. He’d tried to paint her as the perfect wife, the perfect mother in his head. She was passionate and beautiful and intelligent and every good thing. But … he wasn’t in love with her. He wasn’t physically attracted to her. His body did not respond … to her body. No matter how much he’d tried, no matter how much he’d wanted her to be the one for him, it just wasn’t going to work. 

Maybe it was the same kind of thing with him and Malfoy. 

He let a sigh escape his lips. 

And then Harry picked up his fork, and took a bite of scrambled egg. 

Relationships were complicated. 

It seemed a miracle any two people could come together. And stay together. 

So. It was fine. Malfoy had made his choice, which he was quite entitled to do. 

But, well … Harry wished he’d never known. Just … never known. 

“Potter.” 

“Mm?” Harry asked, not looking away from his plate. 

“Thank you for your help … with the letters. I appreciate it.” 

“S’fine,” Harry said. Because what more could he say? 

He took another bite of egg, and left it at that.

~~

Harry was marking the latest Second Year assignments, when his office door opened, without so much as a knock first.

Malfoy waltzed in, as if it were his own office. 

Slowly, Harry placed his quill down. 

“Why did you ask me on a date?” Malfoy demanded, looking quite angry. He seemed to take up the whole room. 

Harry shrugged one shoulder, and tried to smile. “A chance at happiness?” It came out dryly, like he might not mean it. But he did. 

Malfoy faltered slightly, but composed himself and straightened his posture. “Are you even attracted to men?” 

“Yes.” 

“Are you even attracted to _me_?” he demanded. 

Harry licked at his bottom lip, and found himself unable to meet Malfoy’s eyes in that moment. “You know what you look like.” 

Malfoy faltered again, staring at Harry. Then, he blinked rapidly. “Answer the question.” 

Fine. “Yes.” 

Malfoy just stared back at him. It was impossible to know what he was thinking. 

Then he whirled around to go back to Harry’s door. With his hand on the door handle, he turned, and that wild, slightly manic look was back in his eyes. “Dinner. Friday at six. You make the reservation.” He opened the door, before adding, “This is only to prove how terrible an idea it is.” 

And before Harry could say anything, Malfoy was gone. 

Harry looked down at the paper he’d been marking, and tried to continue reading it, but nothing was sinking in. 

He got up, went to grab his overcoat from his quarters, then Harry left the castle.

~~

“Lumos.” The sun had long ago set, so Harry needed it to guide his way up Ron and Hermione’s path.

He didn’t want to knock and wake Rose, so Harry tried the handle. It opened for him. He hoped Ron and Hermione wouldn’t mind. 

He found them in the den. Hermione was lying on the sofa, with a book open in her lap, and Ron was sat on the end massaging her feet. The wireless played music softly, and a fire crackled in the hearth. 

“Hi,” he said, knocking softly on the doorframe. 

“Oh! Harry!” said Hermione, twisting to have a look at him. 

“Sorry if I startled you, I didn’t want to wake Rose.” He exhaled in a puff. “Again … I should’ve Floo-called first.” 

Ron shrugged. “It’s alright. We have wards to alert us if there are any scoundrels around,” he said, grinning. 

Harry smiled, stepping into the room. 

Hermione made to sit up but Harry stopped her. “Sorry, don’t get up. It’s nothing, really.” 

Her eyebrow shot up. “You said that last time.” 

With a sigh, Harry sunk into a stuffed armchair across from the sofa. “I know. This time is slightly different.” He rubbed his palms against his trousers. “I need to know the name of a nice restaurant.” 

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. 

“For what purpose?” Hermione asked slowly. 

Harry sighed. Guess it was time to admit it. “I’ve asked Malfoy out.” He winced, anticipating a negative reaction. 

Instead, Hermione’s face lit up, and Ron looked amused. 

“After all these years, eh?” Ron asked, and made a humming sound. “Guess I can’t call him names in front of you anymore.” 

“You like him?” Hermione asked softly, with a smile on her lips. 

Merlin, did he? Would he say ‘like’? His imagination conjured the memory of Malfoy tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, speaking softly to a First Year in his classroom. 

He thought of Malfoy’s voice breaking when he got upset, unable to finish sentences. 

And then of Malfoy with his nose in a book, as he walked the hallways—somehow able to read and walk simultaneously without running into anything. 

He thought of Malfoy quietly sitting beside him at every meal, eating slowly. Every movement careful and deliberate. 

And, he thought of Malfoy eyeing his hair with a lifted eyebrow, saying, “Nice hair, Potter.” And how Harry would mutter a dry, “Thanks,” and then spend the rest of the day thinking about it, trying to pat it down in the bathroom mirror. 

Harry opened his mouth up to speak, then closed it. He rubbed a palm over his face. “I mean … I think I actually _do_. He’s very … I don’t know. I don’t know how to put it into words.” 

He couldn’t explain the ache he felt lately, or the racing heartbeats. Not to mention the total inability to think of anything besides Draco Malfoy and that sodding pearl. It was sort of awful. He didn’t understand any of it himself. 

“You don’t have to,” Hermione said. “What’s that quote? Ah … something like ‘One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving.’ I think it was Paulo Coelho who said it?” 

“Er, I wouldn’t say ‘love’, let’s not get … ahead of ourselves …" Harry’s face felt very hot, and it might not be from the hearth. 

Hermione waved her hand—a ‘no matter’ sort of wave. 

Harry added, “It’s just one date. He says he’s only agreeing to it to prove it’s a terrible idea.” 

“So prove him wrong,” said Ron, smiling. 

“I’ll … I’ll try,” Harry said, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. “First step is to find a good restaurant, something even Draco Malfoy wouldn’t have any objections to.” 

Ron puffed out his cheeks. “Well I’m not sure you’ve come to the right place. We haven’t been out on a date since Rose was born.” He tapped his hand against Hermione’s shin as he thought. “Ah! I’ll ask Brenda from work, she’s a real foodie. She’ll have some fancy suggestions.” 

Harry flashed Ron a grateful smile. “Thanks, mate.” 

“No problem. We’ll figure out the perfect date for you and Malfoy together.” He paused. “Never thought I’d say those words.” 

“It’s wonderful, Harry,” Hermione interposed. “We’ll be rooting for you.” 

He smiled. Harry really had the very best friends; he was very lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer #1:  
> -I'm in self-isolation alone, so if any of the interactions in here are weird, it's because I've forgotten what human interactions even are
> 
> Thank you for reading, next up is THE DATE ❤️


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (There is some Italian and Spanish spoken in this chapter, you don't really need to know what the words mean.)

That Friday, the day of the date, was nothing but nervous energy for Harry. All morning, and all afternoon long. He couldn’t eat much. He was mostly convinced he was going to bollocks it up. His palms were sweaty—he kept having to rub them on his trousers, and hope that no one wanted to shake his hand. 

It’d been forever since he’d been on a date. He probably didn’t remember how to have one. 

Malfoy hadn’t talked to him since he’d agreed to the date. Merlin … what if he forgot? What if Harry arrived at his door and he said, “Sorry, but I made other plans.” And then proceeds to go out with some posh, fit bloke named Steve or something. And they fall in love. And Harry lost his chance, just like that— 

Okay. He was definitely overthinking it. 

After Harry’s last class finally ended, he raced back to his quarters to get ready. 

Hermione had told him to wear a nice suit. 

Merlin … what if he was overdoing it? What if Malfoy took one look at him and decided he was trying too hard? 

Harry slapped his own cheeks. _Get it together, Harry,_ he told himself. 

Okay. Time to focus. 

He took a quick shower, then dressed in his nicest Muggle suit—every part of it was black, including the shirt and tie. But the suit jacket and tie had a little shimmer to them. It was a nice outfit. Simple, but nice. 

Then he tried to tidy his hair a bit, keep the curls somewhat in line. 

Next Harry dabbed lavender oil on the back of his neck, and onto each wrist. (“It’ll help calm you,” Hermione had said when she handed it to him). He took a deep sniff from his wrist. She was right, it was a calming smell. 

Lastly, he performed a shaving charm, and gave himself a once-over in the mirror. He looked good, or as best he could look anyhow. 

He checked the time ... _5:31pm_ —he was still half an hour early. So, Harry sat on the edge of his bed and waited, tapping idly against his knees. 

Harry checked the time again. _5:34pm_. 

He got up, paced around his sitting room. Then, he pulled on his big black peacoat, stuffed his pockets with the wrapped-up Portkeys and tickets, grabbed the plant for Malfoy, and then set off for Malfoy’s quarters. 

Malfoy opened the door after the tenth knock, looking a bit frazzled. “I thought I had more time.” 

“You do. Sorry, I’m early,” Harry said in a rush. “I could come back?” 

Malfoy shook his head. “Muggle or magic?” 

“Er, what?” 

“The restaurant. I forgot to ask.” 

“Oh. It’s a Muggle restaurant I think.” 

“You think?” Malfoy looked at him like he couldn’t believe he didn’t know. 

Harry sheepishly shrugged. “Ron’s co-worker recommended it—” 

“I see.” Malfoy sighed, and opened the door wider. “Come in, I’ll have to change into something Muggle.” 

As soon as Harry stepped inside, Malfoy was already unbuttoning his robes. 

Harry cleared his throat, and distracted himself by stepping farther into the room and looking around instead. “You have time,” Harry reminded him, as he stared at a bookshelf, overflowing with books. They looked to all be about Potions theory and references for ingredients, of course. He cast a quick Tempus. _5:42pm_. “Twenty minutes, actually.” 

“Okay,” Malfoy said, sounding farther away. 

Malfoy’s sitting room was just as empty as his office. There was nothing on the walls. Just a non-descript grey armchair near the hearth, and a small desk by the window, overflowing with papers. And then he had that bookshelf. There was only the one photograph in the room, sitting on the desk. Harry took a step closer. It showed Narcissa Malfoy standing in a lush garden—she wasn’t smiling, but the sun was shining and reflecting off her hair, and her hands were clasped loosely in front of her. It seemed a nice summery day in the photo. 

“Why are you holding a potted plant?” 

Harry whirled around, to find Malfoy watching him from the doorway to his bedroom, leaning against the doorframe. He had on a light blue button-down, a medium-blue tie, grey trousers, and was currently buttoning up a matching grey waistcoat. It was the warm kind of grey, like … less blue than other greys. And Merlin was the outfit tailored to him. 

Should he compliment him? Harry wanted to, but … 

Malfoy lifted an eyebrow. 

“Sorry, what?” 

“The plant in your hands.” 

Harry looked down at his hands, at the green thing with white specks on its leaves. “Oh, right. It’s for you.” 

“For me?” Malfoy echoed, kicking off from the doorframe. 

Harry shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “I noticed you don’t decorate much, so I thought you might like a plant.” 

Malfoy strode over, and took it out of his hands, giving it a closer look. “Thank you,” he said, rather neutrally, and moved to place it on the windowsill. Malfoy paused to look at it for a quick moment, and then turned around to go back into his bedroom. 

Harry fiddled with his own hands, not knowing what to do with himself. Malfoy emerged a moment later, dressed in a grey blazer, and was pulling on a grey herringbone overcoat. 

“Okay, I'm ready.” Malfoy gestured towards the door. “Shall we?” 

“I’ve got a Portkey, Minerva authorized it to bypass the wards.” 

“You told Minerva about this?” 

“Well, no,” Harry said, fishing around in his pocket for the correct Portkey. “I just asked if she’d authorize a Portkey, and she accepted.” He pulled out the wrapped-up clothespin, and unwrapped it to rest on the fabric on his palm, holding it out towards Malfoy. 

Malfoy eyed it with uncertainty. “Where are we going?” 

Harry held onto one end. The countdown started. _Three._

Malfoy pinched the opposite end from where Harry held it, careful not to let their fingers brush. 

“Italy.” _Two._

Malfoy’s face snapped up. “ _Ita—_ ” 

_One._

That familiar hook-in-the-gut interrupted Malfoy. 

They landed in a dark cobblestone alleyway, and, as per usual, Harry had not landed gracefully. 

Malfoy grabbed on to Harry’s elbow to steady him, at the same time as he hissed, “ _Italy_?” 

“Yeah,” Harry said, straightening himself and looking around. Malfoy’s hand dropped from his elbow. The alleyway was rather dark, yes, but it led out into a warmly-lit square—and bodies were moving past. 

He looked back to find Malfoy staring at him in disbelief. “What city?” 

“Pisa.” 

Malfoy took a deep breath. “Salazar … I thought the furthest we’d go was Edinburgh.” 

Harry shrugged. “Come on,” he said, and started moving towards the light. 

It was about ten degrees warmer in Italy, so Harry took off his coat, and flipped it over an arm. 

Malfoy caught up to him, shaking his head. “Pisa,” he mumbled. 

“Have you been to Italy before?” Harry asked conversationally, as he looked around at the busy square. Some people were sat at round tables in front of little shops, having a glass of wine or a coffee. A quartet played a jaunty tune down the way, and people had gathered to watch. 

“Well, yes, but … it’s been a while.” 

“Mm,” Harry acknowledged, pushing through the crowd, leading them towards a dim passage between two tall buildings, and up a narrow set of stone stairs. The steps had dips in the centres—from all the footsteps over the years. 

“My Italian will be rusty.” 

Harry tossed a look back at him over his shoulder as he climbed the steps. “Yeah? I’m sure we don’t need to know much.” 

At least, Ron hadn’t told him he need to learn any Italian. It was an area tourists went to, after all. 

Malfoy didn’t have a response for him. 

They found the place: a tiny little restaurant with paned glass on the façade, and a terrace at the back overlooking the square below. Harry held the door open for Malfoy, and then he approached the host standing behind a tall little desk, dressed sharply in a black and white suit. 

“Buona sera,” said the man. 

Harry froze. He didn’t know what that meant. 

Malfoy brushed past him—their arms grazing—while smiling at the host. “Buona sera. Er ... come sta?” 

The host smiled. “Molto bene, grazie, e Lei?” 

“Sto bene, grazie. Ah … prenotazione … for Harry Potter?” 

Harry watched the exchange, wide-eyed and … rather impressed, really. Malfoy’s voice went so smooth and sensual when he spoke Italian. It was … interesting. 

“Sì, please follow me, sirs,” the host said, smiling at them. Then he turned and lead them off onto the terrace, with menus in hand. 

He sat them down at a table on the edge of the terrace; it had a great view overlooking the square below. They sat. He handed them their menus. 

“Grazie,” said Malfoy. 

Harry tried to echo it, “Grazie.” It sounded better when Malfoy said it. 

“Prego, please enjoy your meals,” answered the host, nodding to them and walking off. 

Malfoy shook his head, as he opened the menu. “I can’t believe you took me to Italy,” he muttered. 

Harry smiled to himself and looked around. It was nice up there. Quiet. There were a few couples sitting at identical tables nearby—but not _too_ close—speaking quietly. And the melodies from the quartet below travelled up along with the refreshing night breeze. It was getting so cold in Scotland as winter approached, so it was nice to be somewhere milder, even if only for one evening. 

A white linen tablecloth covered the table, and a candle in a pretty glass votive flickered between Malfoy and him. It was nice. This was nice. 

“Buona sera!” A waiter approached with two clear bottles in hand. “Gas or no gas?” 

Harry blinked at the two bottles, one had a blue label and one a red. He definitely did not know what was being asked. 

“Do you want carbonated water?” Malfoy leaned forward to ask Harry. And Merlin did those clear grey eyes sparkle in the candlelight. 

“Oh, uh, doesn’t matter.” 

Malfoy shrugged, and turned to the waiter, “Gas, per favore.” 

The waiter poured the red-labelled bottle into glass cups for them, and then left. 

Harry stared down at the menu, then glanced up at Malfoy, who was shaking his head again studying his menu. But a small smile played on his lips. Harry bit his, just looking at Malfoy. 

“I’d never been out of the UK before,” Harry just sort of blurted out. 

Malfoy lowered his menu to look at him. “Why not?” 

He shrugged, smiling a little. “No occasion to.” 

Malfoy dropped the menu altogether. “You’re telling me … that during all these years, you’ve had the means, but no reason to, until right now?” 

Harry worried his bottom lip, and glanced out off the terrace. “I suppose, yeah.” 

Malfoy snatched up the menu, shaking his head again. 

Harry frowned down at his. “I don’t know what to order,” he admitted. 

After taking a breath, Malfoy leaned forward and propped up his chin, with elbow on the table. “Well what do you feel like? Pizza? Pasta? A meat of some sort?” He paused, just staring at Harry. The corner of his mouth lifted as he over-emphasized, “Perhaps _soup_?” He watched Harry expectantly. 

Harry bit at the edge of his lip. “God, I don’t know. Choose for me?” 

“Fine.” Malfoy exhaled out his nose, leaning back and lifting the menu up again, but Harry caught a proper smile on his face. 

The waiter came back, and Malfoy said a lot of words at him, in his smooth sensual Italian, and then the waiter left with their menus. 

Malfoy swiped the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip, observing Harry. “So this co-worker of Ronald Weasley’s ... they didn’t know a restaurant in the UK?” 

“Well, _sure_ she did. But …" He ran a hand through his hair, and promptly realised he’d probably messed it up, and started to pat at it, while Malfoy looked on with a small smile. “But I was in the mood for Italian, since we never seem to have it at Hogwarts. And, everyone likes Italian, right? Can’t go wrong. So, well, Ron's co-worker said this restaurant had been her favourite ...” 

“Ah.” 

“I didn’t think it was too much of a big deal, really.” 

A small, sad-looking smile appeared on Malfoy’s mouth. “It is though, actually. A big deal.” Malfoy arranged the napkin that held his cutlery so that it pointed straight. “For someone unable to leave Hogwarts for fear and threat of harm. Or for someone who no longer has the financial means to travel.” 

“Shit … I should’ve asked you—” 

“I meant … it’s nice. It’s a nice surprise.” 

Harry slumped. “Oh.” 

Malfoy fiddled with his napkin some more. “It’s a relief to be out of the castle, and not feel like I have to be constantly looking out for someone wishing to harm me.” 

Harry nodded slowly. “That’s why you never go to Hogsmeade.” 

“Yes.” 

The waiter came back with a bottle of red wine. He poured out a small amount in Malfoy’s glass first. Malfoy gave his glass a swirl and smelt it, before taking a small sip. He nodded at the waiter, who proceeded to fill both of their glasses. 

“Grazie,” Malfoy said to the waiter, before he walked off. 

Malfoy held up his glass towards Harry, so Harry mirrored it. 

“Salute.” 

“Salute,” Harry tried out the word. “What’s that mean?” 

Malfoy clinked their glasses together. “It’s how you say ‘cheers’ here, Potter. Essentially means ‘to your health’.” Then, he took a sip, looking off of the terrace. 

Harry sipped his too, but he watched Malfoy. He couldn’t help but watch Malfoy. 

He wasn’t sure if he was doing a good job at this whole date thing. But Malfoy didn’t seem angry at him, so that was positive. 

And they’d talked way more already than they had all year. And it’d felt … almost natural. Almost easy. 

The waiter brought them their meals—a whole pizza for Harry, and a dish of pasta for Malfoy. 

“We can share,” Malfoy said, looking down at his plate. “If you’re up for it.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Harry said, peering over. “What’s yours?” 

“Gnocchi and white truffle in a gorgonzola sauce.” 

“Oh.” He didn’t know if he’d like that, but he was willing to try. 

“Give me your fork.” 

Harry handed it over, and Malfoy forked up some his food and handed it back. They were careful to not brush fingers. A splat of white sauce dropped on Harry's pizza, and then he took a bite. 

He stared wide-eyed at Malfoy, and swallowed it. “It’s so good.” 

Malfoy smirked. “Yes.” And took a mouthful himself. 

And so they ate—and Harry’s vegetarian pizza was just as incredible as the pasta—and they drank their bottle of wine. Everything was delicious and the night air was lovely, and Malfoy looked relaxed and pleased. 

“Potter, why are you single?” Malfoy asked, giving a swirl to his wine and taking a drink. 

Harry barked out a laugh, surprised and uninhibited. “What?” 

“Why are you single? Why aren’t you married to Ginevra Weasley, or someone like her, and have three charming biracial, wild-haired and freckled children by now?” 

Harry let out another laugh. “Well, for one, I’m gay.” 

“Beg pardon?” 

“I’m _gay_.” 

“Since when?” 

“Since always, I suppose.” 

Malfoy blinked at him, and, slowly, said, “I see.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m sure there’s a Weasley bloke or two—” 

“Oh God, no,” Harry interrupted, with a hand on his cheek. “They’re, like, my family.” 

“Ah.” Malfoy swirled his pasta around with a fork, and then put a piece of gnocchi in his mouth. They were definitely slowing down. Harry was getting so full … so pleasantly full. 

He thought about it for a moment—thought about why he was single. “Maybe I’m single because everyone’s only interested in me because of what I did at seventeen, and I feel so far removed from that version of me that when people treat me like some larger-than-life hero, my instinct is to shrink away and retreat. They’re only bound to be disappointed in the real me.” 

“Salazar … you really believe that?” Malfoy wore a complicated expression. 

Harry smiled, maybe a little sadly. “Yeah.” He took a sip of wine. 

“Your …" Malfoy started, looking down at his nearly empty pasta bowl. It could’ve been ‘your’ or ‘you’re’, without context, Harry didn’t know. 

"It doesn’t matter. It’s fine.” Harry took another drink. “Why are you single, then?” 

Malfoy’s expression went from confused contemplation to darkly amused in a flash. “Merlin …” He rubbed a palm over his face. “Similar reasons to you, I suppose. Except in my case, actually based in reality. I used to be a Death Eater, or have you forgotten?” 

“No, I haven’t forgotten,” Harry said slowly, furrowing his brow. “I guess we both can’t shake our seventeen-year-old selves.” 

“Well—as I say—it _was_ kind of a big deal.” 

“And feels like forever ago.” 

“Does it?” 

“It does to me.” Harry shrugged. 

“I’ve long ago accepted that my actions after sixteen made it impossible to have anything I wanted age fifteen and under. In the years since, I’ve had to adjust my … life expectations.” 

“What did you want at fifteen?” he asked quietly. 

“Well you knew me … so, not a whole lot of good. Wealth, power, that rubbish,” he waved a hand around. 

“Mm,” Harry acknowledged. “What about marriage or kids? Did you want to …” 

Malfoy laughed. “Fuck. Sure, sure I used to want those things.” 

“Not anymore?” 

“Salazar, maybe we’ve had too much wine.” 

Harry exhaled. “Yeah, we don’t have to talk about it.” He shot Malfoy a smile, and fiddled with his napkin. 

“I’d be afraid to be a father … in case I’d turn out anything like mine,” Malfoy said quietly, pushing his dish away from him. 

“Well that’s bollocks.” Malfoy’s face snapped up to stare at him. “I’ve seen you with the students,” Harry explained. “You’re so patient with them, so calm—” 

“It could be different with my own children.” 

“I sincerely doubt it.” 

Malfoy pinched his mouth in a line, regarding Harry. “You give me too much credit.” 

“Do I?” Harry leaned forward. “Just what is so bad about you?” 

Malfoy leaned forward himself, eyes bright. “I’m moody and emotional—” 

“So?” 

“—and I was a fucking Death Eater, and I let those—” his voice broke, “— _monsters_ into our school, a school full of children—” 

Harry reached over and grabbed Malfoy’s forearm. “Stop.” 

Malfoy was breathing fast, but his wide-eyes shifted to Harry’s. 

“ _You_ were a child. _You were._ You were forced.” 

Malfoy took in a shaky breath. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “Too much wine.” 

“Don't be … It’s … it’s fine.” 

Malfoy exhaled, averting his eyes, and leant back. Harry’s hand dropped from his arm. 

Shit. 

He should … try to fix this. 

“I don’t care,” Harry emphasized. “You know? I don’t care anymore what you did at sixteen.” 

“Awfully convenient for you, isn’t it? I don’t have the luxury. I can’t just forget and move passed it … because I'm the one facing the consequences every day—receiving death threats and student’s parents trying to take them out of school.” 

Harry sucked in a breath. This had taken a turn … and it’d been so nice before. 

His heartrate had sped up. He didn’t know how to navigate out of this conversation and into lighter topics. 

“But it’s better now, isn’t it? Since the letters stopped?” Harry asked hopefully. 

“Maybe it is now, but for how long? It’s not like everyone who’s ever sent me a mean letter will get life in Azkaban. They’ll be back. And they’ll be angry I tried to stop them.” 

Was it so hopeless? Was the rest of Malfoy’s life supposed to be that way—made to suffer and live in fear of retaliation? For something he did as a teenager? 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I probably should’ve never … never even got myself involved.” 

He’d bunged it all up. 

Malfoy stared at him with his mouth pressed in a firm line. 

Harry found he couldn’t quite meet his eyes. 

Then Malfoy seemed to deflate as he exhaled. “I’m sorry. It sounds like I’m making myself out to be the victim when it’s the exact opposite. I deserve it. I deserve everything I’ve gotten.” 

“I … respectfully disagree,” Harry said to his napkin. 

Malfoy laughed—breathily and not particularly happily. “See? You’ve still got the unfailing ability to see the best in things, the best in people. You’re a nice person.” 

Somehow, it didn’t feel like Malfoy was complimenting him. 

“And I’m unfailingly self-critical and prone to outbursts and more apt to see the darker sides of things. We don’t fit.” Malfoy continued. 

“Or maybe we’re complimentary?” Harry suggested, chancing a glance up at Malfoy. 

Malfoy just looked back at him, while his expression betrayed nothing. “No. We’re not.” He said those words definitively and flatly. 

Harry could only blink back at him. 

The waiter returned, and Malfoy’s eyes shifted from Harry to the man. 

“Can we take the rest to go please?” Malfoy asked. His mouth was pinched, and he hadn’t even tried to say any of that in Italian. 

“Certainly, sirs.” The waiter picked up their dishes. “Coffees? Teas? Dessert?” 

Malfoy seemed to hesitate, and glanced at Harry for a moment before deciding. It came down to how fast he wanted to get out of there and back to Hogwarts, probably. Harry swallowed—resigning himself to an early cut-off to their date. He wasn’t going to convince Malfoy of anything—the man was so stubborn in this. Which … was his right. 

God … Harry wished again that he’d never known, never heard that sodding magical pearl. It was better to think Draco Malfoy hated him—it was easier and far less complicated. 

“A tiramisu and two espressos, per favore.” 

“Of course, sir.” The waiter walked off with their leftover food. 

Okay. That was … positive? Maybe? 

But he didn’t dare say anything, in fear of starting an argument. 

“I’m Draco Malfoy.” 

He blinked back at Malfoy in wary uncertainty. “Yes.” Harry was aware. 

“I’m the villain. The loser. The fuck-up. And you’re Harry Potter.” 

Harry sighed, and looked away. He watched the people walking around down below. Some were couples, holding hands as they strolled leisurely—like they walked without a set destination in mind. It seemed nice. 

“You’re the fucking hero of the story. The saviour. The good guy.” 

Harry wanted to groan, but he didn’t. He tore his eyes away from the square below, and looked at Draco head-on. “Yes, and I still eat, shit, and sleep like every other human being. I fuck up, I make every mistake. I thought you knew that … I thought you saw me differently, saw the real me—saw past The Prophet and the rumours and the hero-worship.” Fuck. He honestly really had thought Malfoy was different. Harry ran a hand over his face, and exhaled slow, before continuing, “The only goddamn reason I’m seen as a hero is because of all the people who had to die so I could survive to be the one to face Voldemort. Do you think that feels good?” He was so tired. So fucking tired of being Harry Potter. “My parents, my godfather, my mentors, my friends … even my owl. They were all murdered, because of _me_. To protect _me_. Do you know what it’s like to be afraid to love someone because you’re sure you’re just going to lose them?” Oh God. 

Malfoy pinched his mouth shut. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. He hadn’t wanted to admit all that. He’d sort of … snapped. 

“It wouldn’t last,” Malfoy made one more attempt at continuing his case, while unable to meet Harry’s eyes. “I’d drive you away.” 

“You’re making it quite clear that you don’t want to bother trying.” It was Malfoy’s choice, and he didn’t need to keep rubbing it in. 

If it was a definitive ‘no’, fine. Then they could both move on with their lives. 

It’s just … Harry’s chest ached. 

Malfoy had no response for him, evidently. 

The waiter came back with a paper bag full of their leftovers and a plate of tiramisu with two small spoons. 

He laid them on the table, and Harry stared at the cake. It seemed too romantic a thing, for them to share after that conversation. Plus … Malfoy hadn’t actually specified it was for sharing, had he? It might be all for him. 

The waiter came back with the two espressos, served in small, white ceramic cups and saucers. 

“Grazie,” Malfoy said softly. 

“Prego.” 

The waiter left. And then it was just silence between them. 

Malfoy picked up a spoon and paused. “Do you want some?” He sounded more hesitant, this time. 

Well … he would like to try it. 

So, Harry picked up a spoon, and scooped up a bit, and … like everything else they’d tried that evening, it was delicious. Creamy and light, just the right amount of coffee and cocoa. 

They ate in silence, sipping at their espressos and looking down off the terrace, as their sides of the tiramisu got closer and closer to the other’s side. Then it was a thin strip, and they just went for it—finishing off the rest in equal bites. 

Harry sucked his spoon, to get every last bit off. 

The waiter came along with the bill, which Harry paid by credit card. Malfoy fiddled with his napkin; eyeing Harry funny as he paid. 

Then they stood up. Harry cleared his throat, and grabbed their paper bag of leftovers, and made for the exit. 

Malfoy trailed after him, and, only once they were out the door, said, “This was … nice. But … don’t you see how this was a mistake?” 

Harry shrugged as he turned a corner to head for the stairs going down into the square. “Not really.” 

They wove through people strolling in the opposite direction, found their way back to the dark alleyway. They stopped in the approximate spot that they’d first appeared from. 

Harry bit at his bottom lip with an incisor. “Ah …" he began, fumbling around in his coat pocket. “There was a part two to this. But I understand if you’d rather go back to Hogwarts.” 

“A … part two?” Malfoy echoed. “What … is it?” 

“Spain.” 

Malfoy let out a breathy laugh. “Spain. Of course.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Where in Spain?” 

“Just west of Barcelona, I think.” 

“You think,” Malfoy echoed softly. “And this trip involves … ?” 

“I’d rather not say,” he admitted. He’d prefer it be a surprise, if they ended up going. 

“Right,” said Malfoy. “Right …” He paused to mull it over. “Ah … yeah, sure. Fuck it, right? Why not. Let’s go to fucking Spain.” 

Harry found himself smiling, despite himself. Despite the uncertain, weird tension between them. “Alright.” And then, he held out the yellow pencil crayon for Malfoy to grab the other end of. 

_Three. Two. One._

Hook-in-the-gut, Harry nearly falling over, Malfoy steadying him. 

This time, Harry and Malfoy had landed in a long clearing surrounded by trees. And nearby were swarms of people with light spilling out of wands to guide their footing, walking in the same direction towards a patch of yellow lit-up sky, as they spoke to one another loudly in Spanish. Many of them wore brightly-coloured, tall hats, and some carried flags or banners. 

“How’s your Spanish?” Harry asked offhand, without looking away from the crowd. 

Malfoy sighed. “Worse than my Italian.” 

“I thought your Italian was amazing.” Harry said without thinking. 

He did though—he did think it was amazing—It wasn’t an exaggeration. 

Malfoy laughed, and when Harry glanced over, he’d almost say Malfoy was preening. When Malfoy realised he was being watched, he schooled his expression into something neutral. 

Harry bit back a happy smirk, and put a stasis charm on their leftover food before shrinking it, so that he could tuck it away in his pocket. And then he said, “Let's go,” and moved to join the crowd of walkers. 

“Oh Merlin, what _are_ we doing,” Malfoy mumbled, catching up behind him. 

There sure were a lot of people. 

“De todas formas aún queda mucha liga,” someone said loudly to Harry’s left. 

A chant soon started amongst the people. Something like, “¡Babosa! ¡Babosa!” 

Harry and Malfoy were getting swallowed up by the crowd, with Harry in front. Harry felt something— _a hand_ , in his hand. Malfoy’s hand? It was soft. Soft and slender and firmly gripping onto him. 

He didn’t dare look back. He just held it, as if it were perfectly normal for them, even though his heart was pounding hard in his chest. 

It was just for safety—so that they wouldn’t get separated—he reminded himself. It didn’t necessarily mean anything to get one’s hopes up about. 

Pretty soon a giant stadium with beams of yellow light projecting into the night sky appeared past the hill just ahead, and the crowd formed queues to show their tickets. Harry chose one to join at random. It’d become less hectic, less jammed on all sides, and the hand dropped away from Harry’s. 

Harry gave himself a moment. Just a moment to breathe and collect himself, and then he turned around. Malfoy was looking up at the stadium with bright, wide eyes, and mouth slightly parted. 

He noticed Harry looking. “Is this what I think it is?” 

Harry bit at his bottom lip. “Probably?” 

Malfoy blinked at him for a moment. “It’s … a proper professional Quidditch game?” 

He nodded, searching Malfoy’s face to gage his reaction. 

Malfoy smiled. “It’s been years since I got to see one, besides those shoddy amateurs at school, of course.” 

“Hey, Gryffindor’s team is doing quite well this year, Eccleston really has a—” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Malfoy interrupted, rolling his eyes. “I don’t need to hear it.” And then he smiled. Properly smiled. With eyes going all soft. 

Harry just looked at him. God, he was so lovely. 

Malfoy nudged at him. “Go on, the queue’s moved.” 

Right. Harry turned and strode a few steps forward. Ah, and he should fish out those tickets from his coat pocket before they get to the front. 

“Why … why Spanish Quidditch, though?” Malfoy asked, leaning closer as Harry fumbled around. 

“Ah, well, I had an idea. I’ll … I’ll show you once we’re in.” 

“Mysterious.” 

“That’s me.” 

Malfoy laughed under his breath, and leaned away, looking around. 

They reached the front of the queue and Harry handed over his tickets silently to the slightly-frazzled-looking ticket-collector, and then they were quickly ushered inside. 

Harry eyed the shops on the ground level of the stadium, as heaps of people flowed past them. Some of them were loudly blowing horns. He turned to Malfoy, leaning in so they could attempt to hear each other properly, and asked, “Er, is there anything you want? Something to eat? A pint? Water?” 

Malfoy wore a small smile on his mouth, and shook his head. 

“Okay.” Harry looked around for a spot that wasn’t in the middle of a crowd. He spotted some bins nearby. “Um, wait … wait over there for a second.” 

Malfoy turned to look where Harry was indicating, raising an eyebrow. 

“I’ll just be a minute.” 

Malfoy shook his head, but said, “Fine.” And moved closer to the bins. 

Harry popped off to one of the shops. The queue took ages, and there was a lot of pointing and mutually-puzzled looks when he tried to order. When Harry finally made his way back to the bins, he spotted Malfoy before Malfoy spotted him. 

And he looked … well, he was biting at the end of a thumb, and looking around at the people going by from under his eyelashes. And he wore a small, happy smile on his mouth. It made Harry’s heart speed up again. 

Harry cleared his throat, and then strode up to Malfoy, who straightened the moment he spotted Harry—the thumb falling from his mouth, along with most of the smile. 

“Ah,” Harry started, before pulling out two scarves. “Do you want the hot pink and white stripes? Or the sort-of puke yellow and green stripes?” 

Malfoy’s eyebrows had raised as he observed the garments. Tentatively, he grabbed for the hot pink and white one. “What’s this all about?” 

Harry wrapped the ugly scarf around his neck. “Now we’ve each got a team to root for. We can sort of … compete.” 

Maybe it was a dumb idea. 

Malfoy smiled, thumbing at the wool of his new scarf. “I love it.” 

Harry exhaled a breath. Good. He was relieved. 

“Go pink team,” Malfoy said, with a funny half-smirk and half-smile, as he wrapped his scarf around his neck. 

He cleared his throat. “Yes, and go … puke-yellow. Er, let’s find our seats.” 

Malfoy nodded, with that funny smile, and they set off together to find their place in the stands. 

They were sort-of mid-level. Harry liked being mid-level—he liked being in the thick of it, immersed in the middle of the crowd. Hopefully Malfoy wouldn’t mind. 

If he did, Malfoy didn’t comment. 

They settled into their seats as they waited for it to start. There were shouts and chants all around. The crowd’s excitement was palpable. 

Malfoy leaned in towards Harry’s ear, and said, “Should we make a wager, then?” He leaned back a bit, looking straight into Harry’s eyes—wide-open and daring. 

Harry felt a bit breathless. “If you want, yeah. Sure.” 

“Alright, if I win …" Malfoy looked around the stadium as he thought. Then he whipped his head back around with a cheeky smile on his face. “If I win, I get to borrow your broom for the rest of the year.” 

Harry lifted an eyebrow. His Nimbus 43,000? Why not. It’s not like he rode it much. “Alright.” 

“And you?” 

He licked at his bottom lip, and looked out across the way. At the tiny dots of people on the other side—decked out in the same colours as their scarves. He turned back to Malfoy. “If I win, you’ll go on one more date with me?” 

Malfoy stared at him for a beat, his expression betraying nothing. But there was an intensity to him. “Alright.” He held out his hand. 

Which was a terribly normal thing to do, after agreeing on a wager. But it was _them_ , and a handshake seemed to mean something more. Harry slipped his hand into Malfoy’s, and they shook firmly. Malfoy pulled his hand away first, immediately looking away towards the pitch. 

Harry could still feel the echo of Malfoy’s skin on his palm. 

A booming voice made an announcement, causing the crowd to go wild around them—standing up, clapping, shouting with hands cupped around mouths. 

Harry shared a look with Malfoy, a small smile, and they both stood up, along with everyone else. 

It was time for the mascots. First, a giant papery yellow-green blob took form in the air. Harry squinted at it. 

“¡Babosa! ¡Babosa! ¡Babosa!” people chanted, waving their puke-yellow and green flags. 

The blob stretched out, and took full form. It was … a slug, if he wasn’t mistaken. A slug floating around in the air. 

“Guess that’s my team, the Slugs,” Harry muttered to Malfoy. 

Malfoy smirked. 

The slug did a few loops in the air, and then, for whatever reason, was lit on fire. The flames ate through it quickly, sending ashy dust down to the grass on the pitch, as fans went absolutely wild for it. 

Next up was a group of people in pink fluffy onesies with little ears and nubby tails, flying in on brooms—doing flips and jumping from broom to broom. 

“What are they supposed to be?” Harry asked, squinting. 

“¡Hámsteres! ¡Hámsteres! ¡Hámsteres!” half the crowd roared. 

Malfoy laughed, then, speaking out of the side of his mouth at Harry, “I think they’re meant to be hamsters.” 

“Ah. Brilliant.” 

Slug team versus Hamster team, then. Who would prevail? 

The Slug team were brought out, and Harry cheered as loud as he could after each player name was called. 

Then the Hamsters came out, in their hot pink kits. Malfoy cheered along for them, throwing Harry a smile at the end. 

The four balls were tossed in the air, and then, the players were off. Harry spotted the Golden Snitch for only a split-second. 

It was fun … it was really fun losing his mind cheering for his team. And Malfoy started grabbing on to Harry’s arm anytime it was even slightly tense for the Hamsters—when they were gearing up to aim a shot at the goal post, or when a Bludger missed one of his players by a hair, or when their Seeker made a deep dive only to pull up and continue looking around again. 

It was likely Malfoy’s natural reaction to stressful situations. Didn’t mean anything, necessarily. 

But, after a while, his hand stayed—just gripping at Harry’s forearm. 

It was a lot of quick back-and-forth. The score was 170-150, for the Slugs. 

The hot-pink Seeker dove again. Another fake-out? 

Or was this it? 

Harry’s free hand found Malfoy’s bicep, gripping on to it, as the Seeker raced towards a point on the far end of the pitch. Malfoy’s hand tightened on his arm. 

“Come on slug-Seeker, hurry it along!” Harry called. His team Seeker was diving after Malfoy’s, but a body’s length away. 

“Come on, come on,” Malfoy muttered through gritted teeth. 

Harry’s Seeker was catching up. Only a moment and he might have it— 

The Hamster Seeker held her hand out, and then thrust her fist triumphantly in the air—beating wings peeking through from her closed fist. It’d all been so fast. 

Half of the crowd erupted in raucous cheers, including Malfoy. 

Harry had to laugh. He was watching Malfoy more than anyone else, then. And Malfoy seemed … genuinely happy his team won. He was all bouncy on his feet. 

Malfoy turned to look at him, with eyes glittering and a smile that wouldn’t go away. He bit at his lip, and then leaned in towards Harry’s ear. His thumb slid a fraction downwards on Harry’s arm. “This was fun.” 

Harry smiled, nodding. He agreed. 

Malfoy’s hand dropped slowly from Harry’s arm, grazing Harry’s hand as it fell, as he went to look out at the pitch again. So Harry removed his hand from Malfoy’s bicep as well. 

Their date had ended well, at least. Was a bit rough around the middle, but turned out pretty good, he figured. Harry would count it as a success. 

So, he’d have to lend Malfoy his broom then. He’d prefer a second date, but, who knows … maybe Malfoy would agree to one anyways. 

They could go to another Spanish Quidditch game together. Or Portuguese. Or wherever, really. 

The Hamsters formed a line in the air to shake hands with the Slugs, and then the winners were paraded around the pitch—met with more claps and cheers. 

Harry, for the hell of it, cheered along. Why not? It was over, so his allegiance was over, too. 

Then the players left the pitch, and the crowds started to disperse with the noise lulling into more of a background buzzing. 

When Harry looked to Malfoy to leave, Malfoy was staring straight out at the emptying stadium, biting at his bottom lip. 

People pushed past them to get into the aisles and out. But Harry sensed Malfoy was gearing up to say something—so, he waited. And tried to act and breathe normally, as he fiddled with his hands. 

The stadium was about a quarter full, and significantly quieter, when Malfoy turned to face Harry head on. “Fuck it. Fuck it— _I lied_. I pretended that that sodding pearl didn’t out me, but it did.” 

Oh— 

_Oh_. 

Harry’s heart was hammering. “I—” 

“I do want you. I want you so much it hurts sometimes. So much that it scares me … and I know I’ll just fuck it up, because that’s what I do. That’s what I do with everything I truly want. But I don’t want to … I don’t _want_ to fuck it up. And I’m sorry I’ve been such an arsehole to you tonight. I’m … Merlin … I don’t even know.” 

Jesus— 

“I want you too,” Harry blurted. “I want you, back. I don’t want to fuck it up either. Let’s not … let’s not fuck it up.” 

Malfoy blinked at him, pausing, absorbing all that. “Yeah?” 

Harry let a tentative smile break through, and Malfoy looked down at his mouth. “Yeah.” 

Malfoy worried his bottom lip again, still looking at Harry’s mouth. “I still think you deserve better.” 

“ _Noted_ , but, I disagree.” 

“Right … right …” He took a breath. “Harry Potter …" He paused, just staring at Harry's mouth. "I hope you don’t mind, but I've wanted to kiss you for a very long while." 

“ _Oh_ …" Harry said, blinking more rapidly, licking at his bottom lip. “Well, let’s.” 

Malfoy just went ahead and rushed in to kiss him, right then and there, fisting at Harry’s suit jacket lapels. 

Oh Merlin. 

Malfoy’s mouth was insistent—frantic even—pressing heavy pecks against Harry’s lips. As quick warm puffs of air from his nose flitted over Harry’s face. 

_Hold on_ , he thought wildly. 

He palmed at Malfoy’s cheeks, trying to get him to just stay still—to let Harry kiss him back properly. 

The skin on Malfoy’s face was so smooth—nary any evidence of stubble. 

“Hold still,” Harry murmured against Malfoy’s quick mouth. 

And Malfoy did, for a moment, for long enough that Harry could kiss his mouth softly. Gently. Slowly. So that he could run his fingers past those cheeks, over shells of ears, and lace them into silken white-blond strands. So that he could pull his mouth away, and have their slackened lips hover—just a fraction apart—so that he could bring them back together, and feel their softness. To revel in that softness. 

Lovely … 

But Malfoy didn’t want to stay soft and slow for long—he licked at Harry’s bottom lip, and then crushed their mouths together—making funny frantic sounds that weren’t quite moans but _almost_. And Harry didn’t mind—he liked to start slow, yes. But this was good. This direction was good. 

He opened his mouth a fraction, and Malfoy’s tongue wasted no time in pushing through, in exploring, in rubbing at Harry’s tongue. 

Fucking hell. 

He couldn’t get close enough—he was holding Malfoy’s head as his fingertips traversed Malfoy’s scalp, and Malfoy was going back-and-forth between tugging on his suit jacket and palming at Harry’s chest through his button-up, and they still weren’t close enough. 

Malfoy’s fingertips found Harry’s nipples, which were pebbled and sensitive and oh shit—he was kind of turned on. 

Turned on in a public place. 

He pulled back from Malfoy’s mouth and wild tongue, which was … an effort. Breathlessly, he scrambled to say, “We should go back.” 

Malfoy groaned, and went back in for Harry’s mouth. 

Harry allowed it, of course, for a moment. And then pulled away again. “Let’s do this—” He kissed Malfoy once more. “—back in one of our rooms.” 

“Fine,” Malfoy mumbled against Harry’s mouth, before going in for more. 

Merlin … they needed to … to get away from the stadium and into Hogwarts. 

Could they Portkey straight out? Would there be wards blocking them? 

He broke away from Malfoy again, to fumble around in his coat pockets. 

“Harry,” Malfoy breathed out, going in for Harry’s jaw—just under the ear—planting kisses there. 

Oh Merlin. 

He found the Portkey and unwrapped it—a yellow crisp clip, the kind to preserve your bags of crisps—and pressed it to the both of them. _Three. Two. One._ Nothing happened. Harry groaned. They’d have to leave the stadium then. 

“Harry,” Malfoy said again, kissing at the side of his neck. 

“ _Draco_ ,” Harry nearly whined back, “Come! On!” He grabbed Malfoy by the arm, and moved away—unfortunately dislodging Malfoy and his tongue from Harry’s neck. 

He guided Malfoy out of the deserted row in a rush, and caught eye contact with a worker—a young girl with heaps of brown curly hair and a red and blue stadium uniform. 

She shook her head sadly, eyeing their scarves. “Romeo y Julieta,” she muttered as they passed. 

Harry let out a laugh, and kept going. 

He heard Malfoy grumbling behind him. “Don’t see why … Stop … Perfectly good snogging ..." 

At least there weren’t many people around, as getting out didn’t take too long at all. 

Once passed the entranceway, Harry stopped abruptly, and Malfoy crashed into his back. 

“Merlin—” 

“Sorry—” 

In a flash Malfoy was in front of him again, taking Harry’s face in his hands—leaning in to kiss him. 

“Mmph—” Harry said against Malfoy’s lips. 

He fumbled around his pocket for that Portkey again. Finding it, he held it to the both of them. 

_Three. Two. One._

Hook-in-the-gut. They landed, kissing, and as usual, Harry toppled over. This time, Malfoy just let it happen, toppling with him, down to the floor on top of him. Pausing their snogging only so that their teeth didn’t bang together when they hit the floor. Once settled, Malfoy resumed their make-out session. 

Good. 

Now they could properly enjoy this. 

“I love your hair,” Malfoy murmured against Harry’s mouth, carding his fingers through the curls with fervour. 

Harry pulled away from his mouth to get a look at his face—which just made Malfoy frown. “What! No you don’t!” 

“I love it,” Malfoy said emphatically, as he eyed the top of Harry’s head. “I’ve always loved it. The curls. Merlin … I’ve always wanted to pull at one to see if it bounced back.” He promptly reached out and pulled at a lock of hair. “Oh my God, it does. It bounces back into place.” 

“Well that’s just what curls generally _do_ …" 

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “You think I just go around pulling on people’s curls, do you?” 

Harry laughed, and pushed up to capture Malfoy’s mouth again. 

This time, Malfoy broke away from the kiss. “This isn’t my room.” 

“No! It! Isn’t!” clipped Minerva, staring down at them wide-eyed. 

Oh shit. 

Both of them froze, looking up at Minerva standing just behind her office desk—dressed in a frilly pink and purple polka-dotted nightgown, and holding a paperback. 

“Oh,” Harry said, helpfully. 

“Sorry, I … thought we’d land where we left from ...” 

Minerva’s mouth was pinched. “All incoming Portkeys and Floos come through here.” 

“Right,” said Malfoy. “Ah … well, I guess we’ll be …" 

“See that you do!” she said, whipping around to go to her quarters. Harry thought he heard her mumble, “Of all the times to forget your book.” 

Harry and Malfoy looked at each other. Malfoy bit his lip, and through that whole exchange hadn’t even made an attempt to get off of Harry. 

They burst into giggles, as Malfoy dropped his forehead to rest against Harry’s. 

“Shit,” Harry said, smiling, after taking a breath. “We got caught.” 

Malfoy pulled his head up to look at him again—eyes wide and bright. “You really want this?” 

“ _Yes,_ ” he answered, leaning up to kiss Malfoy’s mouth. Softer this time. Malfoy melted into it for a beat—before stiffening and pulling back again. 

“We _should_ actually leave Minerva’s office.” 

“Right. Yeah. S’pose.” 

Malfoy climbed off of him to stand up. And right then Harry was definitely sure then that Malfoy was just as turned on as he was. “Fuck,” he uttered. 

“That’s the idea,” Malfoy said, through a breathy laugh, as he reached for Harry’s hand to help him up. 

They stood and faced each other for a moment. Giving Harry a second to absorb all this. 

They’d snogged. 

They’d _really_ snogged. 

And it was brilliant. 

Harry wanted to do it again. And soon. 

“Come on, your quarters are closest,” Malfoy said, taking Harry’s hand to lead him out. 

They rushed though the halls, beelining for Harry’s rooms, hand-in-hand. 

Harry fumbled to open his door, as Malfoy latched on to him, kissing at his neck again. Licking him there, and palming at Harry’s waist—working to untuck his dress shirt. 

The door gave, and they tumbled inside. Malfoy maneuvered Harry’s back to be pressed up against the closed door. He lent in to him, pressed all of himself to all of Harry, working his hands up Harry’s shirt to feel bare skin. 

And Merlin was it a lot. 

Malfoy’s mouth— 

And Harry's hands found Malfoy’s arse. Squeezing it, pressing him in closer. 

“Are we moving too fast?” Harry said, breaking away, gasping for breath. His hands stilled on Malfoy’s perky arse. 

“Not. Fast. Enough,” was the answer, before his mouth was captured again. 

Harry broke away again. “Only after the first date?” 

Pausing, Malfoy pulled back and stared at Harry’s mouth. He licked his bottom lip. “I promise I won’t think any less of you.” And then, the prat smirked. He planted a peck against Harry’s mouth. “And it’s not like we just met.” 

Harry exhaled. “True, yes.” 

Pausing again, this time Malfoy searched his eyes. “Do you want to wait? We can wait if you want to wait.” 

He shook his head. No, he couldn’t possibly wait, not one more moment. “No.” And Harry pressed his lips hard against Malfoy's. God … why hadn’t they kissed way earlier? He really liked kissing Draco Malfoy. 

Malfoy worked on the buttons of Harry’s shirt, freeing up Harry’s skin—bit by bit. 

It was time to undress—God, it was time to undress. He tugged at Malfoy’s clothes, and he had too much of them, too many layers. He fumbled with buttons, tugged off the Quidditch scarf and the blue tie, pushed articles of clothing to the floor as he went along, until they were both shirtless, and Malfoy was pressing his incredible skin against Harry’s chest. 

He was so warm, and smooth, and solid. 

“Bedroom,” Malfoy mumbled, against Harry’s lips. 

“Yes,” he gasped back. He agreed. 

Harry pushed Malfoy backwards towards his bedroom, kissing him, and palming at his bare, warm skin—his sides, his ribs, his back—all the while. Harry found two dimples—just above Malfoy’s arse. He pressed his fingertips into the indents. 

They were through the door … and then, near the bed. Harry pushed Malfoy onto it, and then worked on undoing his own flies. Malfoy leant up on his elbows to watch. 

Harry pushed down his trousers and pants in one go. 

“Salazar,” Malfoy muttered, staring at him. 

They didn’t have time to stare (well, they _did_ , but—). Harry knelt on the bed, and worked on undoing Malfoy’s flies, as Malfoy alternated watching Harry’s fingers with watching Harry’s cock. 

“I …" Malfoy said. 

“Hmm?” 

“I want to fuck you, so much.” 

“Then fuck me,” Harry said, pulling Malfoy’s trousers and pants down and off. Revealing the most perfect cock and balls. Leaking and hard for _him_. “Oh Merlin.” 

“Yes … yes,” Malfoy said, pulling Harry down to kiss him on the mouth. 

Harry relaxed into it, letting his body fall, letting himself splay naked overtop an equally naked Malfoy. With cocks digging into stomachs and hips. 

Malfoy rolled them over, so that he got to be on top, looking down. 

And the lighting on the ceiling made the edges of Malfoy’s hair glow. “You’re beautiful,” Harry blurted out. 

“Shut up.” But Malfoy smiled, and he leaned down to kiss Harry some more. Then, he broke away to say, “Accio wand.” And his wand flew into his hand. “You’re sure?” he asked, hesitating once more. 

“Positive.” 

Malfoy smiled, leant down for one more kiss, and then cast a spell under his breath. 

Harry felt himself open up, lubricated and ready. “Fuck me. Put your cock in me.” 

Malfoy’s eyes were dilated, as he licked his bottom lip. “Gladly.” He pushed Harry’s legs apart, and felt with his fingers to make sure his spell had worked. 

Harry moaned at the touch, squeezing his eyes shut. God. He needed— 

He wanted— 

Malfoy arranged himself between Harry’s legs. “Look at me.” 

Harry did. And he wrapped his legs loosely around Malfoy’s waist. 

Malfoy’s eyes were so intense, and aroused. Harry almost got lost in them, until he felt the pressure against his arsehole. Malfoy’s … Malfoy’s cock. 

“Yes,” Harry blurted out. 

Malfoy bit at his lip, and pushed. 

“Yes!” 

Malfoy’s cock went deeper and deeper inside of him—filling him up with it. “Like my cock, do you?” Malfoy asked. 

“Yes, fuck yes. Love it. Need all of it.” 

“All of it, hmm?” Malfoy pushed all the way in. 

And then he pulled out. 

And then he thrust in all the way. 

“Oh please,” Harry whined, palming at Malfoy’s stomach. 

“Please, what?” 

“Please fuck me.” 

Malfoy let out a low laugh. “I _am_ fucking you.” 

“Keep fucking me.” 

“I will, Harry.” 

The sound of his given name did something to him. “Speak Italian to me,” Harry gasped, arching his back. 

“Liked that, did you?” Malfoy asked, smirking and raising an eyebrow. 

“ _Yes_.” 

Malfoy shifted down, supporting himself with hands on either side of Harry’s head, as he kept thrusting into him, and, practically purring, said, “La donna mangia la mela.” Malfoy stared at him like he was a bit awed by him. 

“Oh, _yes._ ” It was so, so unbelievably sexy. 

“Arrivederci.” Malfoy’s thrusts sped up. 

“Yes!” His hands flitted wildly over Malfoy—over his biceps, his chest, his nipples— 

“Buon giorno.” Malfoy shifted to hit at Harry’s prostate. 

“Oh fuck!” 

Malfoy kept hitting it, kept hitting that spot and staring straight into Harry’s eyes. 

So beautiful— 

Fuck, at this rate— 

“Mi dispiace,” Malfoy nearly whispered, and leant down to kiss Harry’s mouth, which Harry met with vigour. They kissed—open-mouthed, wet, with tongues wild and desperate and unsynchronised. They kissed with eyes open, with Malfoy’s cock pushed deep inside of Harry, and rhythm slowed. 

Malfoy pulled back from the kiss, to thrust into Harry with increased abandon. 

“Yes!” Harry gripped on to Malfoy’s biceps. 

“C'è qualcuno che parla inglese?" He grunted between heavy thrusts. 

“Yes, fuck, yes! Draco!” It was so much. It was all so much. 

“Ti amo.” 

“Yes, fuck! I’m going to! Fuck I’m going to—” 

Malfoy moved a hand in between them, to palm at Harry’s hard, aching cock. Bliss. Pure bliss. He might’ve been shouting. 

He was coming, in spurts within Malfoy’s hand, and onto his stomach. 

And then Malfoy came soon after, inside of him—his face scrunched up and his mouth in an ‘o’, without making a sound. 

He was perfect. Malfoy was perfect and beautiful. 

He collapsed onto Harry’s chest, and Harry wrapped his arms around him—holding him close. 

After the comedown, Malfoy planted a kiss to Harry’s chest. “You’re quite vocal.” 

“Oh,” Harry said breathily. “I s’pose.” 

“I like it.” 

“Yeah?” 

Malfoy pushed up to look at him. His expression was so relaxed, so open. More so than Harry had ever seen him. “Yeah. Very much.” 

Harry licked at his bottom lip. 

Malfoy leaned down to kiss him. It was lazy, slow, and soft. Gentle. God … Malfoy had such lovely lips. Afterwards, he pulled back to fumble around for his wand, and then he cast Scourgify on them both. 

“We’ve had sex,” Harry blurted out. 

Brilliant.

It'd been brilliant.

Malfoy laughed under his breath. “Yes.” And then draped himself over half Harry’s body, nuzzling his face into Harry’s neck, breathing in. “Do you want me to go back to my quarters?” 

“What? No!” 

“Good, because I’m not going.” 

Harry wrapped an arm around Malfoy’s shoulders, pulling him in closer, planting a kiss on his hair. “Good.” He pulled off his glasses with his free hand and tossed them in the general direction of his nightstand, and fumbled to pull a blanket over them both. "Nox."

And they very soon fell asleep.

~~

Hours later, Harry woke up to a groaning sound. He cracked an eye open, and it was still dark. There was a heavy weight across his chest. He went to investigate, and found an arm.

Oh. 

Draco Malfoy. 

“Be quiet,” said-person grumbled. 

“What?” Harry asked, turning his head. 

“Shh.” The arm pulled Harry closer, and a lazy kiss was planted on his shoulder. 

Harry closed his eyes again, snuggling nearer to Malfoy’s warmth. 

“Harry?!” 

Harry’s eyes popped open again. That sounded like … Ginny’s voice? Coming from the other room? 

“Shh,” Malfoy said again. 

“Harry!” 

Definitely Ginny Weasley. 

“He’s gay, you can’t have him,” Malfoy mumbled into Harry’s shoulder. 

“Harry, you come over here this instant!” 

Well this was odd ... 

Harry shifted the arm off of him, and carefully climbed out of bed. 

“No,” Malfoy mumbled, palming at the empty space where Harry had been. 

He pulled on his glasses from the nightstand, and grabbed the spare blanket he keeps on the chair, wrapping it around his waist. Then Harry rushed over to his sitting room, half expecting Ginny to be standing there. Instead, Ginny’s firey head was in the hearth. A Floo-call. Of course. He hurried over, and knelt down in front of it. 

“Ginny?” 

She exhaled hard, shooting him a cross look. “Took you long enough. Hermione’s gone into early labour. She’s at St Mungo’s.” 

_Oh_ , oh shit. Harry’s heart began hammering in an instant. 

“Okay, okay … I’ll …" 

Ginny flashed a tired smile. “Meet you over there, yeah?” 

“Yeah. Of course.” 

Ginny ended the Floo-call. 

Fuck— 

It was too early … too early for her to have the baby. 

Harry rushed back to the bedroom, turning the lights on. 

Malfoy groaned. 

“Sorry,” Harry rushed to say. “I’ve got to … Sorry—” 

Malfoy peeked at him through bleary half-closed eyes. “W’s wrong?” 

“Hermione,” he said frantically. “In hospital. Going into early labour.” 

Malfoy sat up fast, and the covers dropped from his chest. But Harry couldn’t think about that now. He had to get dressed. He started pulling out dresser drawers, dropping the blanket to fumble at pulling on fresh pants and joggers ... 

Malfoy appeared beside him, dressed in his pants. He started grabbing some of Harry’s clothes. 

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, tugging a jumper over his head. 

“I’m coming with you, and I’m not going to wear my old clothes off the floor, now am I?” 

Harry didn’t know how to respond to that. Instead, he grabbed a pair of socks, and went to sit on the edge of the bed to pull them on. 

Malfoy tugged on Harry’s clothes, and once they were both dressed, he took Harry by the hand and led him down hallways, as Harry tried very hard not to worry—not to _think_. Malfoy broke them in to Minerva’s office—where they could Floo straight to St Mungo’s. 

They popped out into the fluorescent lighting and stark white everything of St Mungo’s, and Malfoy once again took Harry by the hand, leading them down hallways and up some steps towards the maternity ward. 

Once there, Malfoy led them straight up to the desk. The nurse eyed them both. 

“Hello, we’re here for Hermione Granger,” Malfoy said quickly. 

The nurse nodded, glancing at Harry’s forehead, before responding, “The family is in waiting room B, down the hall to the right.” 

“Great, thanks,” Malfoy said, tugging Harry along with him as he went where the nurse had indicated. 

He pulled them through a door marked with a big blue “B”. The room was small and bright and filled with chairs—mostly occupied by people with red hair. Before he could practically blink, Harry was wrapped up in Mrs Weasley’s arms. 

“Harry, dear.” 

“Molly,” Harry replied into her big hair. “How is she? What’s happening?” 

She pulled back, and held on tight to Harry’s biceps. “She’s stable and the baby hasn’t come yet. Ron’s in with her now.” 

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief. “Oh … good …" 

Molly smiled warmly, and patted his cheek. Then, she turned to Malfoy. “Hello Draco, dear.” And then, defying expectation, she pulled Malfoy into her arms. 

He looked at Harry, over Molly’s shoulder and half-hidden by a cloud of red hair, with a startled expression on his face. 

Harry smiled. He felt he could smile, then. Hermione was stable. That was good. 

Molly pulled back, saying, “I’ll have to make you one of your own this Christmas, hmm?” 

Harry and Malfoy shared a look, not knowing what she was talking about. Harry’s eyes dropped to Malfoy’s chest—Malfoy had thrown on a navy-blue jumper with a giant gold ‘H’ in their rush that morning. Harry smiled again, biting his lip. 

Malfoy looked down, and realised what he’d done. He exhaled hard, evidently disappointed in himself. He brought his head back up and smiled softly at Mrs Weasley. “Yes, I’d love that.” 

She patted his cheek, as the rest of the Weasley clan barrelled over to say their hello’s, sharing hugs, hugging Malfoy, even—to his shock and dismay. 

“Draco Malfoy, huh?” Ginny whispered into Harry’s ear. “I knew it. I’ve seen it coming for ages.” 

Harry pulled back from the hug. “No, you haven’t!” 

She just smiled at him knowingly— _smugly_ , even—and went over to give Malfoy his hug. 

Once everyone had got that all out of the way, Harry and Malfoy shared a look. Malfoy, a bit wide-eyed, seemed rather bewildered to’ve been hugged by every single member of the extended family. Harry smiled back, and tilted his head towards the chairs. Silently, they went over to settle themselves into the grey vinyl waiting room seats to … wait. 

The rest of the family spread themselves around the room again, talking quietly amongst themselves. 

Fiddling with his hands, Harry looked around, but there wasn’t much to see besides side-tables with old and weathered magazines, and cheerful posters about practicing proper hand hygiene on the walls. 

And then he noticed little Rose, in turtle pyjamas, curled-up sleeping on a blue blanket laid over two seats—with her mouth hanging slightly open, and small fingers bunching up the blanket in a fist. 

He breathed out slow. Rose needed her mum. Hermione had to be okay. She would. 

Malfoy leaned closer to Harry’s ear, asking quietly, “You alright?” 

He nodded, flashing Malfoy a forced smile. “Bit worried, I suppose.” 

And Malfoy nodded back, offering a sympathetic twitch of his mouth, like he understood. He reached for Harry’s hand, and brought it to hold on his own lap, cradling it in both hands. 

It was a comfort. 

God … they’d moved so fast. How did they get from not talking, to a date, to a mutual confession of feelings, to snogging, to having amazing sex, and, finally, to holding hands in a hospital waiting room? 

It still felt a bit uncertain, like Malfoy was going to tell him he’d changed his mind at any moment. To go back to thinking this was all a mistake, to say that they’d never be able to make it work. 

“Thank you,” Harry said slowly. “For coming.” 

Malfoy rubbed his thumb over Harry’s knuckle in response. 

The door opened to the waiting area, and in walked Ron. He looked pale and frenzied, as he strode into the centre of the group, and announced, “She’s gone into emergency surgery. The baby … he’s got her … ah, umbilical cord wrapped around his neck.” 

Harry stood up, dropping Malfoy’s hands from his. 

The other members of the family crowded Ron, giving him hugs, offering him soft words of comfort. Saying it’ll be alright, that Hermione was strong … that she and baby would be just fine. 

He paced in his end of the waiting room, barely registering anything going on in the centre of the room. 

Harry didn’t know what to do; he didn’t know how to join the rest of them, or how to be the strong one, the one who you could depend on in times of crisis. When you’re scared. Because that was Ron for him, and that was Hermione for him—they were his support. Harry was always the one who needed their confidence, their reassurance. 

And what if something happened to Hermione? 

Harry clenched his hands into fists. 

He couldn’t lose her. He just couldn’t. 

The world needed Hermione Granger. 

Harry refused to lose her. 

He couldn’t just wait there. He couldn’t just do nothing. 

Harry found himself rushing off towards the door to the waiting room, slipping out into the hall, and waltzing off without a destination. 

He turned a corner and kept going. Every hall looked the same—white walls, white floors, closed doors with labels on each one that Harry couldn’t bother to read. 

“Harry.” 

He stopped in his tracks, as if it were automatic. Malfoy had said his name like the pearl had. Soft. Fond. 

“Harry,” Malfoy said again, coming around to face him head on. He _did_ look fond. “Are you headed for someplace in particular?” 

He shook his head. 

“I thought not.” Malfoy took both of Harry’s hands in his. “Gra—Hermione’s going to be fine, I promise you.” He squeezed Harry’s hands, just once. 

Harry sucked in his bottom lip. “You don’t know that.” 

“I do.” 

“But you can’t—” 

“I know it, I know she’ll be fine.” 

“But you _can’t_ —” 

“I can know it, and I do.” 

Harry just stared at Malfoy, baffled by his confidence. 

“Babies are premature all the time, Harry. They get caught in umbilical cords all the time.” 

“I’m sure not _all_ —” 

Draco interrupted, giving a little shake to Harry’s hands. “The best Healers are seeing to her, the very best. And you know what? It isn’t even very complicated. She can’t give birth the regular way, so they’re just going to … do the birthing for her. Safely. It’s easy. Just a few spells and they’re done. I’ve read all about it, and I’m quite sure I could perform it myself. Right now, even.” 

He blinked at Malfoy. That all sounded … reassuring. 

Malfoy offered a smile. His thumbs were rubbing soothing circles on the backs of Harry’s hands. 

“Why are you …" Harry started, staring at Malfoy. 

“What, so handsome? So very intelligent?” 

Harry let out a laugh under his breath. “Why are you … helping me?” 

Malfoy pinched his mouth small, furrowing his brows a bit. “Because I like you. Hadn’t we already established that?” 

He smiled, despite nerves and everything that was going on. “You like me?” 

“Salazar, _yes_.” 

Harry huffed a little laugh, smiling bigger. 

Malfoy’s expression sobered slightly. “And I’m trying what we agreed upon—I'm trying not to fuck it up.” 

Oh ... 

Harry exhaled slow. “You’re …” He took a breath. “Mal— _Draco_ , you know you don’t have to tread too carefully, right? I like you. I like you even when you’re cross with me—telling me you hate me and that my face is annoying.” He laughed, a self-deprecating sort of laugh. “I like you even when you’re ignoring me, for _days_ , or when you’re insisting—” 

Draco leaned in, and kissed Harry’s mouth. Soft. Warm. 

Harry kissed back. 

Draco pulled away a fraction, eyes raking over Harry. “I like you so much, Harry. And I’m sorry about what I said. For the record, I very much like your face.” 

Harry felt a smirk grow on his mouth. “Do you?” 

“Yes.” Draco sighed, like it pained him to admit. “You’re very fit.” 

Laughing under his breath, he leaned in to kiss Draco some more. 

Draco pulled away, after the snog had gone on long enough that it was almost ready to become something else. He licked at his bottom lip, which was rosier and glistening a bit from their kissing. “This was an odd place to have this conversation.” 

Harry looked around, properly seeing where they were for the first time—right in front of the nurses’ station, where several nurses and a couple Healers were watching them with expressions ranging from faint dislike to outright enthusiastic interest. 

He deflated. “Ah.” Turning to Draco, he added, “This might be in The Prophet tomorrow. That’s another drawback of being Harry Potter’s boyfriend.” 

“Boyfriend?” Draco said breathily, his eyes had gone wide, and a grin threatened to form on his mouth—which he tried to bite back. It was so bloody endearing, it left Harry nearly breathless. 

“I mean, if you want?” 

“Yes,” Draco said, leaning in to kiss Harry again. He pulled back, with eyes bright. “And I don’t give a shit about The Prophet.” 

“Oh … well … good.” 

Merlin, was Draco ever lovely, smiling at him like that. He wasn’t used to it. Not yet. 

“Come on, we should go back,” Draco said, looping his arm in Harry’s and already steering him back from where they came. “Boyfriend.” 

They pushed through the doors of waiting room ‘B’, as Harry held his breath. He believed Draco, he did. He trusted him. Still … there was always a part of him that was going to fear the worst. 

But the faces that greeted them were cheerful. Harry exhaled hard, looking from face to face for a clue. Arthur spotted him looking, and beckoned him over. 

“Mum and baby are fine. Perfectly healthy,” Arthur said, standing up to pat Harry on the shoulder. “Ron’s in with them now, and we’ll get to go in once Hermione wakes up from the sedative.” 

Harry exhaled hard, again. And nodded. 

“All right?” Arthur asked. 

Harry smiled. “Yes, yes of course. This is great news.” 

Arthur clapped him on the back once more, smiling, and sat back down. 

Harry looked around for Draco, spotting him going back to the seat they’d sat at earlier. He sat, and his eyes darted straight over to Harry. 

And Harry could only smile back at him. Draco blinked a bit, and then mirrored it, slowly. 

Draco had been right. Of course. Harry suspected Draco was going to be right … a lot of the time. He made his way over, to sink down in the seat beside him, and reached for his hand—which Draco gladly allowed. 

“Hermione’s out of surgery. Her and baby are just fine.” 

Draco nodded. Like he wasn’t surprised in the least. 

Harry exhaled again— _relieved_ —and leaned his head against Draco’s shoulder. Draco gave his hand a little squeeze. 

“Draco Malfoy?” asked Rose, evidently up from her nap. She appeared in front of Draco, peering up at him curiously. 

“Er, yes,” Draco answered, evidently a bit caught off guard. 

Rose grinned. “I’m Rose!” 

“Ah, well, lovely to meet you Rose,” Draco said, chancing a glance at Harry. 

“Do I get a hello?” Harry asked, smiling. 

“Hello!” Rose rushed over and flailed herself over Harry’s knees in order to hug his legs awkwardly. 

He gave her back a pat. ”I hear you’re a big sister now.” 

She beamed up at him. “Yes! I love my brother so much!” 

“Me too,” Harry said, through a breathy laugh. 

The waiting room door opened, and Ron, letting out a tired breath, stepped inside. Every set of eyes turned to him. 

“Daddy!” said Rose, rushing off to him, promptly getting scooped up into his arms. 

He kissed her nose, which she crinkled in response, and then he turned to everyone, smiling. “Hermione’s awake, we can introduce you all to Hugo now. Though, the rooms a bit small for everyone at once.” 

Grandparents and Rose got to go in first. 

Harry exhaled again. All was right with the world. 

Draco leaned closer to his ear. “So, how did Rose come to know who I am?” 

Harry chanced a glance at Draco—who looked back at Harry with a raised eyebrow and a slight smirk. “I may’ve mentioned you once … she just liked your name a lot, is all.” 

Draco didn’t lower his eyebrow. 

Harry sighed. “I don’t talk about you _all_ the time, you know.” 

Draco scoffed. “Sure you don’t, Potter.” And then he kissed Harry hard on the cheek. 

Huffing a surprised laugh, Harry turned his face towards Draco, and kissed him properly, on the mouth. 

“Oi, this is a hospital, not a boudoir.” 

Draco broke away from the kiss, looking mildly annoyed. Harry turned to catch Ginny smirking at him. And then she winked. 

Sighing, Harry prepared to tell her to bugger off. But the door opened again, revealing all the grandparents with Rose. Molly caught Harry’s eye—and she was absolutely aglow with happiness. “Your turn, Harry and Draco. Room 202.” 

Ah. Harry rose to his feet. 

“Are you sure you want me too …" Draco started, trailing off. 

“Of course, come on.” 

They stepped quietly into Hermione’s hospital room. There she was, lying on the bed with a mess of dark curls framing her tired face on the pillows. Tired, yes. But beautiful. In her arms was a tiny bundle, and she was gazing lovingly at it—at Hugo. 

Ron was sat beside her, leaning forward, rubbing his thumb on Hermione’s shoulder and looking down at Hugo with a soft, fond smile. 

“Hi,” Harry said quietly. 

The two of them looked up. Merlin, they were a wonderful, beautiful family. He loved them so fucking much. 

He'd be completely lost without them. 

Tears welled up. 

“Harry,” Hermione said fondly. “Come on, come meet Hugo.” 

He sniffled, and stepped up to the side of the bed. Through a bit of wetness in his eyes, he saw the wrinkled little guy in Hermione’s arms. Tiny closed eyes, delicate little nose and rosebud mouth. Bald as could be. “He’s perfect.” 

“Yes, he is,” Ron agreed. He turned towards the door. “Draco, hey, wanna meet Hugo?” 

“Er, alright.” Draco came up beside Harry, and looked down at the baby. “Hello,” he said softly. 

Harry let out a shaky breath, and studied Hermione’s face. She looked well. She looked healthy. “I was worried about you.” And then his face crumpled. Fuck. 

“Oh Harry, I’m fine.” 

“If anything had—” 

“I know, mate,” said Ron. “But we’re good. We’re all very good.” 

He sniffled, nodding, with a huge lump in his throat. Draco threw an arm over his shoulders and pulled him in to a hug. 

“One glance at a baby and you’re a wreck,” Draco said fondly. “Who knew the great Harry Potter was so soft?” 

Ron laughed breathily. “We did.” 

“Mmhmm,” Hermione agreed. 

Harry laughed wetly against Draco’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he blubbered, and then pushed off. Draco smiled crookedly at him. Harry bit at his lip. 

“So, I take it the date went well,” Ron said, quite casually. 

“Yes, tell us about it,” Hermione added. 

Draco’s soft eyes didn’t leave Harry’s wet ones. “It was the best I’ve ever had.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer #2  
> -I have been to Pisa, Italy, but, like Draco, it's been a while. So if I've gotten any of the details wrong, I'm sorry, and feel free to let me know. Same goes for the Italian and Spanish words. My Italian is very basic, and my Spanish is worse.
> 
> So, fun fact: Draco says "Ti amo" to Harry while they're in bed together—that means "I love you." Did he mean it? Or was he just repeating Italian phrases he knew? Who can say? ❤️
> 
> Thank you for reading ❤️ Stay safe and well


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